My Big, Fat Sousa

When blogs die

2010-01-28T18:18:00.000-08:00

This blog is officially dead. You should check out this blog, though. It's going to be awesome.

Core Fitness Assessment Results

2009-07-22T11:12:00.000-07:00

Six weeks ago today, on the third day of the Core Fitness course I just completed at West Valley College, we did an assessment to see how strong I was. Here are my scores:

Plank: 1 minute, on my knees.
Squat: 90 seconds
Push-ups: 7 regular, 11 modified.

Today we did the same things, and here's what I did:

Plank: 90 seconds, all on my toes.
Squat: 1 minute, 55 seconds, in a much deeper squat
Push-ups: 21 regular.

I'm pretty proud of myself. I haven't lost any weight, but the muscle I've built is now better able to manage the rest of my fat ass. It's weird it works, because I really feel better physically than I have at any time since I've been an adult. At least since I first started really gaining weight when I was 21. So that's 14 years of fatness, give or take a year or two at the beginning of this decade when I got down to 218. But I didn't have the skills or knowledge that I have now, after taking this class. For example, my posture has improved tremendously because my core is so much stronger. I don't slouch anymore, and consequently, I don't have have any more lower back pain. In fact, I can tell when I start to slouch because it almost immediately starts to ache, so I know have to get up straight in a neutral spine.

It's amazing. I'm adding some cardio to the mix next, so the weight should come off. I'm not even worried about it. Yes, my competition this round, Mr. Robert Burke, is losing weight at a much more rapid pace than I am (seeing as how I haven't lost any in the past 6 weeks). But his pace is not sustainable. He's on a strict diet of Slim Fast and laxatives, with a little Dexedrine thrown in because he's from Antioch and the speedy feeling reminds him of home. Take it from me, a man can only shit so much liquid before he gives and goes to the doctor.

Okay, John. Now, what are we going to do about this weight?

2009-07-21T09:52:00.000-07:00

That's the first thing my doctor said to me yesterday when he came into the examination room for my physical. When the nurse weighed--I was fully clothed in shorts, polo shirt, and Nikes--it weighed exactly 260. That's a gain of 6 pounds, according to my medical chart, since I last visited him in January to discuss whether or not I was healthy enough to embark on an exercise program.

Anyway, so I told him about the six-week core fitness class I've been taking, and he seemed less concerned about it, because I'm obviously getting stronger. I told him I'm enrolled in a spinning class, two days a week, starting September 1, to go with two more days per week with the Core Fitness. Because what I really, really need, he said, is some hard core cardio to take the weight off.

Because, it seems, my diastolic blood pressure was about 5 or 6 points too high. He told me losing the weight should knock it down. We made an appointment for December to see if another six months of working out, this time adding serious cardio to the mix, will fix it.

Otherwise, though, I was given a clean bill of health. My pee looked well--I'm not diabetic--and my blood work was awesome. My lipid panel was frankly fantastic: LDL=94, and my HDL was 59, which greatly impressed my doctor. So no heart disease or arterial sclerosis for me.

Tomorrow is the last day of the 6-week class. We're doing assessments, to see how far we've progressed. In terms of weight loss, I've maybe lost 2 lbs, which, as someone pointed out to me, you can lose that much just sitting on the toilet. But my shirts are all baggy now, and I'll post a comparison of how I did on the first day of class. We were assessed in three areas: how long we could hold the plank position, how many pushups we could do, and how long we stay in a nice defensive stance, a.k.a. by hippies as the "Glass Horse."

My original scores, which were pretty awful, are on a sheet held by the instructor. I'll be sure to write them down tomorrow and report back on how awesome I am compared to the first time.

Just a Walk in the Park, Buddy

2009-07-12T22:31:00.000-07:00

We were at the mall Saturday, taking turns entertaining Lily while the other shopped. So I come back to the kids’ play area and Ashley has a concerned look on her face. “You need to have a talk with your brother, and you both need to understand that this has to stop.”

“What has to stop?”

“There was this real heavy-set couple, and Lily said, ‘Mom, look! Those people are really FAT!”

I texted this story to my brother, which led to the following exchange:

Him: Maybe you shouldn’t let her read your blog anymore.

Me: And I’m no longer allowed to make fun of your obesity.

Him: Why does your wife not support your dreams?

Me: Right?

Him: Did you immediately ask for a divorce?

Me: Yes. I’m moving in with you.

Him: Tight it will be like two and half gentleman, only ghetto. Or is like my two dads, only hella ghetto…

Me: Super Ghetto.

I think he was assuming Lily would be coming with me, which would make the references to the TV shows relevant. Or else we would be raising his dog together.

Anyway, I’m just glad it wasn’t me who was there, because I would have had the involuntary laugh-spasm before the horrifying embarrassment took over. Lucky for me, and this is why contrary to the text-conversation, the Professor has enough shame for both of us.

Also lucky for me, I got to feel superior to other parents at the play space, especially the father of this one little bastard named, I shit you not, “Cougar.”

Who names their kid Cougar? No wonder the kid was an asshole; his parents obviously hate him, since they named him after the lamest pilot in Top Gun, the one Maverick rescued by flying upside down so he could flip off the Russian while Goose Took a picture. Couldn’t hack it.

Only substitue "bullied 2 year-old who has suddenly turned the tables" for "mig," and you get the picture. And Maverick doesn't stick up for punk-ass little bastard bullies.

UPDATE: The professor tells me that before we switched off, Cougar was acting like a maniac, pushing the little kids out of the car, etc. But then kids started avoiding, because he was obviously psycho. He would just start punching the steering wheel of the foam car, screaming. And then, every once in awhile, he'd throw his head back and scream:

"NO! I DON'T WANT TO SHARE!!!"

I would so rather have the kid who insults heavy people than the kid who punches cars and screams at no one.

Although, I will work on being a better example.

Parenting is Hard

2009-07-09T19:21:00.000-07:00

They just don't prepare you for this. At least they didn't in any of the classes I took, and it wasn't mentioned in the books I read.

How do you raise a competent child when you still have the sense of humor of a 4th grader?

Just a little while, Lily was in her bath, and she shouted, "Dad, I have to drop a deuce! I need you to light a match!"

She learned about "dropping deuces," probably from me. I don't even think I can blame this on Andy. She's not quite 4.

"Call me when you're done, and I'll come and light a match." She meant an Incense Match, which are indispensable, especially if you're diet isn't great, or if you in general are one who tends to bring the pain.

"OKAY! I'M DONE!" she yelled about 30 seconds later. I went into the bathroom and had to ask her mother where we keep the new packs of matches, and then found a pack of the French Vanilla.

"LIGHT IT!"

"Hang on," I said. "Did you wipe yet? Make sure you wipe." So she grabbed some TP and wiped her front.

"No," I said, "You have to wipe the other side. You know, your..."

"My butthole?" It was here that I had to choke back the laugh that just came out of nowhere. I swear to god, it must be Pavlovian.

"Erm," I managed, still kind of snarfing, "Um, yes?"

"That's a garbage mouth," she said, which is what we say when she repeats the curse words that her mother and father use on a pretty regular basis. We're getting better, but seeing as how the words that come across my lips, especially when I'm driving, with the most frequency seem to be "Shit," Fuck," and some variation of "Goddam," it's pretty hard.

And the thing is, because Lily's great aunt The Reverend Dian bought her a book over the weekend called, "The Gas We Pass: The Story of Farts," which has a pretty awesome diagram of the digestive system, Lily now knows the word "anus," which I could have used.

Except I can't say "anus" with a straight face, either, so what now?

Progress?

2009-07-09T10:15:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted these in a long time, so here's some new pictures of my masculine physique, taken today.

For comparison sake, here's the pictures I took at Week 9, during the original competition. And so I'll feel better about myself, you can see the originals from 7 months ago. At that time, when I would step on a scale, it just said, "DAMN."

In that profile, I look pregnant.

John's Weigh-In July 6: 253.4

2009-07-06T10:35:00.000-07:00

So it looks like officially I've gained 1.4 lbs since the last weigh-in, two weeks ago. I'm not sure that's right; I think the previous weight of 252 might have been a typo.

But whatever. Since I'm in a contest now, This can be my official start weight.

I'm gonna kick Robert Burke's ass. For those of you who don't know him, you're not missing much. He sucks. But what you do need to know is that he reported an initial weight of 235.6. I don't know if he has a plan, or a blog, or anything like that. If he does, I'll link to it. In the meantime know that I plan on enjoying a nice Jameson on the rocks when I win on September 30.

A New Beginning

2009-07-05T21:02:00.000-07:00

Just got back from celebrating ~~Al Davis Birthday~~ (sorry, wrong blog) the birth of our Country by watching fireworks, fishing, and swimming down in Morro Bay.

While I was there, I got to see my dad, which was nice, since I'm just starting to re-establish a relationship with him after a quasi-estrangement do the fact that he went bat-shit insane for a little bit.

He's doing really well, and he built sand castles with Lily for a couple hours on the beach today.

He's also getting married. It's pretty amazing. He's there with his fiance, and she says, "So, you're all set to come to the wedding?"

"October 24, right?" I said.

"No," she said, and she looked at me like I was an idiot for writing down and committing to memory the date my father had given me over the phone when I spoke to him on father's day. "It's either going to be August 29 or September 5."

"Well, if it's August 29, I'm telling you right now that we won't be there. That's the weekend of Lily's birthday and we're going to be out of town and it's been paid for for a year. Sorry."

"Well, we'll pay to fly you back, don't worry."

"No," I said, politely, "If it's that day, we'll send you a nice gift and well-wishes, but we will not, under any circumstances, be able to make it on that weekend."

She agreed to try to schedule it for September 5. I guess it's a little awkward, seeing as how we didn't invite them to come to whatever is we're planning for Lily, but they've never really been that interested before, and my dad was there when she was born and should remember that date (August 27), and besides that he's asked me when her birthday very recently.

So we talked about other stuff, like how the Professor and I would like to try to get Portuguese citizenship and live there for a while just to see what it's like, and she said, "Well, now that Obama's president, you can do anything you want, he'll probably give a $50,000 to do it." I'm not sure if that's because he's a socialist who gives money away for silly things, or if he uses the magic powers that come with being the Anti-Christ. But anyway, it was a weird thing to say.

Then she asked about Andy, and if I'd make sure he makes it to the wedding.

This caused me to well up a bit. "I'm sorry," I said, wiping away a tear. "I'll tell him when and where it is, but I can't be responsible for whether or not he shows up."

"Why not?" she said. "He's your brother."

"That's just it. We were doing this weight loss competition. We had a blog and everything, where we tracked our progress. The first month, he put together this awesome contest, and made a video, and everything.

"Well, the next month, it was my turn, and because I'm such a poor planner I just completely dropped the ball. I couldn't make it happen. He gave me another chance, and I blew it again. I just couldn't be bothered to commit myself to planning and executing a clever way to demonstrate who won and lost that month, and film and edit it into a funny video.

"Because of this, he stopped participating in the blog. Not only that, he stopped exercising all together. He invented a new class of felony, called Rascal-jacking, when he pistol-whipped a lady with rheumatoid arthritis and stole her mobility scooter. He rides it to and from work every day.

Not only did I fail myself and my blog, but I failed my brother. If he doesn't spend the rest of his life in prison, he'll probably get diabetes and have a foot amputated like Jackie Gleason in that movie he did where he played Tom Hanks' dad. It was the last movie he made before he died. And I have that on my conscience. Because of me, my brother, whom I love so much, will probably go blind and have a rubber foot. My psychiatrist upped my Ambien to 75mg, and still the nightmares keep me up."

I paused. "But still, you could probably just call him and tell him to come?"

"Give it a rest, honey," my dad said. "Can't you see, the boy's in pain? I'll call Andy and everything will be okay."

She looked dubious, but she let it drop. All of this is a round-about way of saying that tomorrow, when I post a weigh-in, I'll be in a new contest with my old friend and high school basketball team mate Robert Burke. Whoever loses the most weight by September 30, in terms of body weight percentage, has to buy the winner a fifth of his favorite whiskey.

But I'll always live with the guilt.

Because You Care

2009-07-02T12:09:00.000-07:00

One of the really awesome things about being married is the fact that you can have a running argument that goes on for years and years, and it doesn't stop until one of you dies, or unless the judge rules for one side during the divorce proceedings.

Ours happens to be about the lyrics to Van Hagar's "Why Can't This be Love." The short version is that my wife thinks the song is about a guy who thinks a woman is really great, but he's not in love with her, and is asking himself why. Since I read and understand English, I say that it's about a guy who is in love with a girl, and this love is unrequited, so he's asking HER why she's dissing him, since it's got what it takes, etc, etc. Here are the lyrics, and you guys can argue it out in the comments section.

Anyway, we've been having this argument for over 6 years, and it never gets old. But I'm not here to argue it out in public. That would be super-annoying, people putting their personal business on a blog.

I have an ongoing argument with my brother, too, but it's not as interesting. It goes like this:

Him: You're stupid.

Me: No, you're stupid.

Him: Dude, you're so dumb.

Me: Shut up, idiot.

Him: You're fat.

You get the picture.

Anyway, have a good Fourth of July. Here's a John Philip Sousa March to get you pumped:

Please stop reading this and pick up Columbine

2009-07-01T13:51:00.001-07:00

I’m supposed to be researching and writing about John Philip Sousa right now. But the thing is, see, he’s fucking boring. And so, I’m suspecting, is John Phillip Sousa, i.e. me. Not that people hang around with me and are bored. It’s more like, this narcissistic project is boring me.

I feel great otherwise. I’m losing weight and my body is sore but in a good way because I’m working out really, really hard, and I live in this beautiful place where the weather is perfect. It’s hot but there’s a pool. Everything is green and beautiful. I feel like I’m on vacation. In fact, right this minute, as I type this, I want to leave the Los Gatos public library, drive home, and take a nap.

I had an idea percolating yesterday, though. I’m reading Columbine by Dave Cullen and it’s fantastic, in that In Cold Blood kind of way. Exhausting research, thousands of interviews with survivors and victims’ families and law enforcement. Details from Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold’s journals and videos. It’s an amazing book. Morbid, sure, but fascinating. And a couple of things occurred to me:

I will never write a book like this. I just won’t. I’m too lazy, untalented, and too self-absorbed.
What if I wrote my project in the third person, like the JPS biographies? I could interview my friends and family and former co-workers and create a complex portrait of a troubled but lovable guy, blah blah blah.

Do you see the obvious problems with this? My narcissism led me straight to a third-person biography of myself. My laziness and lack of talent finalize the deal.

So you should probably close this tab and go and pick up a copy of Columbine. It’s much more compelling than this crap.

But if you’d like to be interviewed for that other thing, hit me up.

Post-Workout High

2009-06-23T10:44:00.000-07:00

Endorphins, I guess. If I keep this up, I probably won't need to take Wellbutrin any more, and Tom Cruise will sleep better at night.

Speaking of religious fanatics, there's this guy who hangs out in the parking lot of our apartment complex who is a Mormon, I guess, because he has these little cards with a painting on one side of some people dressed like gladiators and roman wenches, sitting on the steps of a temple, getting blinded by the sun exploding. On the back it has an 888 number to call and get a free Book of Mormon.

This dude wears sweat pants every day except for Sunday, when he puts on pants and a polo shirt. Today being Tuesday, he has high-water sweats, and heavy blue parka. He doesn't blink, and speaks with a heavy, Eastern European accent.

But's that accent is not his only handicap. I think he's also "special," if you catch my drift. The not blinking was the first clue, but the second clue is that he never remembers me. I've received three cards from him so far, one in Spanish. I've refused him 4 other times with a polite "no thank you," and once when he asked, "Do you have this card for free book?" I said, "Yes, Thanks," because he'd given me one three hours earlier.

Maybe he's like a cross between these guys. the dude in Memento without any short-term memory, Warren from There's Something About Mary....

WHAT THE FUCK?!

The guy who played Warren--W. Earl Brown--is the same guy who played Dan Dority in Deadwood?

I can't wrap my brain around this. The guy who said "Franks and Beans!" is the same guy who pulled out Captain Turner's eye in the greatest fight in television history?

(Don't press "Play" on this if you're squeamish about violence. This shit is ultra violent. It might be NSFW, too)

I'm so glad I have this blog just so I can learn things that. This might make W. Earl Brown the finest actor of his generation. Who else has this kind of range?

John's Weigh-In June 22: 252

2009-06-22T20:24:00.000-07:00

I finally unpacked the scale, and so won't no bitter, fat quitters bitch that this isn't about weight-loss anymore, there it is: 252. After about 2 months of relative sloth, I've put on four pounds since the last official weigh-in.

Of course, last week I started taking Core Fitness at West Valley College, which is 90 minutes +, four days a week. Last week I went to the Monday and Wednesday classes; I'm taking it with Ashley, and we had to trade off watching Lily.

So this weight was from this morning, just before class. I was probably fatter than that, but whatever. This core fitness is no joke, either. I wrote last week about how it reminds me of jock days, but after today I can only say that I wish I had taken something like this back then. After three classes, my posture has improved. I don't have any more lower back pain, because now I notice that it hurts when I slouch, so I straighten up.

In other news, I think my daughter might be a terrorist. After I picked her up from preschool, we went swimming. She kept saying, "Okay, here's the red button. If they don't give us what we want, I'll push it!"

"What will happen when you push the button?" I asked.

"No, it's a RED button!"

"Sorry. What happens when you push the red button?"

"The ballcano shoots hot lava on them."

"The volcano? Who does it shoot hot lava at?"

"The ballcano. On the people who don't give us what we want."

"Well, what do we want?"

"We want flowers," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Nostalgia Week (corrected)

2009-06-19T19:49:00.001-07:00

Nostalgia has been kicking my ass this week, in a good way. But it's still always a little weird, especially when you don't feel like you're old enough to feel nostalgic about anything.

But then I remember that in 8 days or so, I'm turning 35, and think, "Dude, you are old enough."

The first thing that triggered was going to the Core Fitness course I'm taking at West Valley College. It's a class, so we're in a big group of about 36 people, and the woman who teaches is charismatic and tough, like the best coaches. It reminded me that I used to be a jock.

Wednesday was our first evaluation day, where we see how strong we are in the various basic moves or whatever. We had to see how long we could hold an elbow plank position (only my fat ass did the modified version), count how many push-ups we could do, and how long we could hold in a squat position.

It's the squat position that made me nostalgic for my jock days, when I was a high school basketball player, because it was it's a defensive stance. I'd hadn't really forgotten how much I loved this stuff, especially practice, but I hadn't actually remembered it, either, if you catch my drift.

The only way I can think to explain it is that this is a physical memory, you know what I mean? My body, in its soreness, definitely remembers what it was like to be athletic, and dedicated, and it wants to sing John Cougar Mellencamp songs.

But it wasn't just the exercise. We're moving, which means I had to have the argument with my wife about why I have a trunk full of shit that I hall around with me everywhere I go, filled with pictures and yearbooks and crap. Look, I'm not really going to go into that here, and besides, this guy rocks it, but anyway, I saw a bunch of pictures of me playing basketball when I was 17 and I felt somewhere between excited and nauseous.

The second thing that triggered this was a trip with my daughter to her new daycare/preschool the other day. I won't say its name or where it is, and in a minute you'll see why. But it was terrifying. Not because it's a bad school or because Lily was a wreck. But because I came to realize that I don't really like strange children. And this isn't really nostalgic, either, at least not yet. Maybe when Lily is bigger it will be.

Anyway, so I'm there because she doesn't start until next week, but we're required to make two visits, with a parent accompanying the child. Ashley did the first one on Tuesday, and Thursday was my turn. So I'm sitting there in the classroom playing Tea party with my daughter when the other kids came up to introduce themselves and play with us. I was very impressed by this.

What I was less impressed by was some of the other kids. I made the mistake of pretending to smell the fake diaper of a baby doll and making the gas face and saying, "EWWW." Of course, this move killed, and these kids being under four wanted to see it again.

And again.

And again.

ad infinitum.

At first I freaked out, looking at the teachers, thinking get these fucking kids off me, because they went and found more doll diapers and were shoving them in my face and draping them over my shoulders.

Then I remembered that I'm 6'3", and weigh 250-ish lbs, and so I put a little bass in my voice and said, "Stop putting diapers on me."

And it worked! It was quite an epiphany, realizing I'm a grownup and these are just little ass kids.

There was another weird thing that happened. There were two other little girls there, with parents, visiting the school to see if they wanted to go there. One was with her mother and father, and she seemed like a perfectly nice little girl, but her parents were lame. They kept walking around, picking stuff up, like a little tart pan that the kids use to play cooking, and saying things like, "This is sharp. Totally unsafe." And another little girl, older than their daughter, and who was also being really friendly to Lily, was jumping off of a chair. "That's not safe!" said mother, like she was Tipper Gore at a record store or something. Me, I just figure that the people running that school are trained professionals, and if they think it's safe, who the hell am I to go telling them ~~their~~ (Thanks, Brooke!) they're wrong?

The other little girl was there with her mother and two older brothers. At one point, she was riding a tricycle, and this little boy, about 2 1/2 or three, decided he wanted the tricycle. As kids at that age will do, especially spoiled little fuckers with no parental supervision, as this little bastard obviously is, went over, took a swing at the girl, pushed her over, and then tried pull the girl off of the tricycle.

By grabbing her pig tails.

Luckily for him, the teachers were on the situation quickly, because the little girl's older brothers, aged about 8 and 11, were on their way across the playground.

And the expressions on their faces suggested that three years old or not, that little bastard was going to regret doing that to their sister. They were going to fuck him up.

Funny thing was, though, about 30 minutes later, when their visit was up, the little girl threw a fit because she didn't want to leave.

Still, I think I'm going to enroll Lily in some MMA classes.

And if some little fucker tries to pull her off her tricycle, she can break his ass off.

Not quite as gay as "Dixie"

2009-06-16T22:38:00.000-07:00

Well, hello there. Yes, I know it's been two months, almost to the day, since either Sousa has blessed the world with a big, fat blog update.

What can I say but, shit happens. Or in the case of this blog and our contest, didn't happen.

Anyway, what's going on?

The Sousa boys have split up, for one, with Andy moving into an apartment somewhere tender-nob-ish and the rest of the Sousa family moving to beautiful Los Gatos.

Oh, and it's totally all my fault that the contest got fucked up. I was supposed to plan and organize the Month Two Judgment. As fate would have it, and as my brother will be happy to explain to you if you ask him, I suck fucking ass at planning and organizing shit like that. See, February 28, the date we were supposed to have our showdown, is also my wife's birthday. Then, at the end of March, something else came up, I don't remember what. I think my buddy Ian and I barbecued a giant slab of brisket, and Andy wore some awesome seersucker pants and advised his guest to pee in the sink downstairs next to the washing machine, and then called his sister in-law downstairs. Of course, she tore this guy a new one, and he was so embarrassed he spent the rest of his visit there begging Andy to explain that he said it was okay, and that the Professor should be mad at Andy instead of the guest.

And then you can figure out what happened after that.

So I started a core fitness course at West Valley College in Saratoga, that runs from 8:00-10:00 Monday through Thursday. I have muscles hurt that I didn't know existed.

As soon as I find the scale, I'll post a weigh-in. But for now, just be content that when I step on the scale, it just screams, "DAMN!"

I'm also working on my major project for the MFA in Writing program at USF. It's a research project/memoir project about John Philip Sousa. So far I've learned that as a young musician, he conducted and composed songs for a Minstrel Show, and when he was 15, he wrote his first piece of music. When he played it for a group of neighbors, one of them comment that it was "not quite as gay as 'Dixie.'"

Awesome.

Tea Bagging

2009-04-15T13:15:00.000-07:00

On my way home from the gym this morning I came across some kind of protest. Apparently it's tax day--I'm not allowed to do our taxes anymore after I screwed them up last year--and people are mad about it or something, so they're throwing "Tea Parties":

They were also rocking out to Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Red, White and Blue." I guess it's appropriate, if ironic, that they were playing this song, because the part at the end, where he tells people who don't like America to "Get the hell out" sounds just like the guy yelling "they took our jeeewbs" at the protest.

Oh My God

2009-04-14T16:44:00.000-07:00

He's back. That dirty, stupid son of a bitch is just lounging with his feet up in the USF computer lab, droning on and on into his cellphone about how miserable he is, about how his LSAT preparation class is "killing him" and "I really should be working on this." But first he has to expound upon the labor market, about older, more expensive workers being replaced by younger, cheaper workers like "you and me."

Who would hire this asshole?

It reminds me of this one time, I was working in the mail room for an insurance company in downtown San Francisco. I went into the kitchen one day to heat up some leftovers in the microwave, and there were two women there, baby boomers, talking about a report they'd on 60 Minutes about the next generation of workers entering the workforce. Apparently this report said that middle-aged middle managers were having to undergo management training to learn how to relate to this generation, because they're coddled and spoiled and lazy or whatever.

This was the entire conversation:

"Why should I have to change my management style? I'm the boss, if they want to work they'll do what I tell them to do."

"That's exactly right. It's ridiculous all the hand-holding that's expected these days. You know, I'm 45, and when I started working, 25 years ago or whatever, nobody treated me that way. By the way, how's your son?"

"Oh, he's okay. You know what he did? He's so funny, his car wouldn't start, so I let him have mine until he could take in and get it fixed. I don't really need a car, because I take the bus. So he leaves it there for almost two months before I finally say, 'shit, I need my car,' so I call and make an appointment to get it looked at, and it turns out, it was out of gas! Isn't that funny?"

What was funny is that this idiot's son was the exact same age as the young people she was bitching about based on the 60 Minutes episode she'd watched. Now, I can pretty much guarantee that this retard's idiot son is not the depressed fuckhead that's always droning into his phone in the USF computer lab, because, well, he's at least a student at USF. So you can imagine what kind of rocket scientist you'd need to be to not notice that your car doesn't start because it's out of fucking gasoline.

What the fuck is wrong with the Jesuits that they can't enforce a goddam "No Cell Phone Policy?"

Failing

2009-04-13T10:52:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago, I was telling somebody about the MFA program I'm in. He asked me what I've been writing about, and I told him, and he said, "So, you use your writing as a form of therapy?"

I chuckled and said, "No. I see a psychiatrist once a month as a form of therapy."

Lucky for me, this week is the week I happen to see my psychiatrist, and not a moment too soon, thanks for asking.

I apologize in advance for what may be a bit of overshare, but I figured since I have this blog, I might as well use it, right?

Anyway, I'm failing. I wrote last week about hitting a wall in my regimen. I've lost 15 or so lbs, and have been able to keep it off. But I haven't been able to really get back in a rhythm the last couple of weeks, in terms of going to the gym, eating right, etc.

Really, all I care about is being a good husband and a good dad. Losing weight and living a healthier lifestyle is one of the ways in which I can be a better husband and a better dad. It's not like I was a bad family man before I started this project, but I didn't--don't--want to be one of those dads who has to sit in an oversized chair at his daughter's soccer game, hooked up to an oxygen tank because the walk from his handicapped spot in the parking lot damn near killed him.

It's hard to work out, work, go to school two nights a week, spend time with my family, and then still find time to write solipsistic blog posts about how much weight I am or am not gaining.

No, it doesn't make me feel better having written this blog post, because writing is not therapy.

Neither is blogging, apparently.

If you need me, I'll be at the Hometown Buffet, drinking gravy with a straw.

A Joke for Thursday

2009-04-09T15:17:00.000-07:00

John's Weigh-in April 7, 2009: 248 lbs.

2009-04-07T08:27:00.000-07:00

I seem to have hit a plateau, or whatever you call it when you're going downhill instead up. Is there even a term for that? Shelf? Valley?

Anyway, there hasn't been a lot of activity, either on the blog or the weight-loss front. I'm still working out, still not smoking, etc. But it seems to have become maintenance more than actual slimming. So, we'll see.

I guess I still haven't made that personal training appointment. What can I say except that I've been busy. In January, it seemed pretty easy. School hadn't started, and I was so fat that I couldn't help but achieve an initial rapid weight loss.

The goal is still to get under 200. And I feel fantastic.

A Poem for Friday

2009-04-03T12:55:00.000-07:00

I gotta brother named Andrew
fat like a panda, but not from bamboo.
and now I can say
that he got that way
by drinking yeasty home brew.

John's Obsession?

2009-03-27T10:46:00.000-07:00

Andy's been suggesting to me that I seem to have an obsession with boobs. Man boobs, in particular.

And maybe he's right. After all, it has occurred to me to suggest this as the Big, Fat Sousa theme song:

He points to the fact that all of my posts this week have mentioned boobs, either lumpy oatmeal boobs or gross man boobs.

And all I can say in my defense is, who doesn't think man boobs are funny? Look at Phil Mickelson:

Is it a coincidence that the Master's coincides with so many Spring Breaks?

I don't know. Maybe this will cure me of my obsession. You know, like when you get an annoying song stuck in your head, and the only way to get it out of you head is to listen to it? Songs like "Tom's Diner" or "I've Been Thinking About You" by London Beat used to get stuck in my head all the time.

A quick, informal survey around the office has identified "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas as the most annoying song out recently that gets stuck in people's heads. This kind of works as a theme song for us, too; it's about boobs, anyway, so at least it gets us back to the subject of my obsession.

It's funny, because in a competition between who sends the Professor into an uncontrollable, irrational rage of hatred quicker, I'm not sure who would win: Fergie or Carmen Electra . I bet we can set one of her strip aerobics workouts to some Black Eyed Peas, and be the most annoying people in the world.

So there. I'm done. I swear. No more Man Teats.

I promise.

My Satanic, Obesity-Causing Namesake, John Philip Sousa

2009-03-26T11:46:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not talking about this guy.

I'm talking about this guy.

When I'm not crusading for fat rights, or agitating for research into the benefits of embryonic stem cells in the treatment of gynecomastia, I'm in the beginning stages of a research project about the guy my dad named me after, John Philip Sousa.

(My name, in case you didn't know was John Phillip Sousa. With two LLs. Whenever I google myself, I get the original guy. If I type in my name, with two LLs, I get corrected. Thanks, mom, for that.)

So I was looking for some information, and I came across this post from a conservative blog pimping Kansas Senator Sam Brownback's aborted (no pun intended) presidential run last year:

John Philip Sousa: False Idol

Please read the whole thing. It's fascinating. But what makes it relevant to My Big, Fat Sousa, is the last part, with the embedded YouTube. "after, his instrument, the sousaphone, is a gateway for Satan to infect children with acne and obesity." The video is called Tuba (sic) for Fat People.

This does wonders for my self-esteem. I've always been kind of self-conscious about my name, because the only people who recognize it are band geeks and people old enough to remember patriotism. But now I've learned that the O.G. John P was really a kind of prototype rock star, like Ronnie James Dio or Nikki Sixx, but without the leather pants.

I wonder what happens if you play this backwards:

In Defense of John Sousa

2009-03-25T16:50:00.000-07:00

UUUGGGHHH!

Here's another obese-apologist claiming that it's not really John's fault he's so huge.

I guess the hard work of John and all his friends is really paying off.

When will the media wake up and see that his lies and half truths should not stand?

When will these people get it?

John, just put down the donut and take your friends for a walk.

On Being a Haterista

2009-03-24T10:28:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking of adding Yoga to my workout program. Yes, I'm sure it will help me alleviate stress, and help me breathe better, and all that. But what I'm really interested is in releasing my inner hater upon the actual objects of my wrath, to their faces.

Instead of what I do now, which is rant on a blog about stupid everyone is.

I got this idea by when I was going through the Big, Fat Sousa blog list this morning, and came across "yoga makes me insult people" at Zoe Ruiz's A Fantasy of Flight. The basic gist is that after she went to a yoga class in Silver Lake, she went into a coffee shop and insulted a bunch of hipster douche bags to their faces. It's awesome.

I'm not there yet. I have to keep my haterisms to snarky comments whispered to friends and family, or to unhinged rants on this blog (and sometimes on my other blog). For example, yesterday, the Professor and I were working out together, doing the circuit training workout at Planet Fitness, when, as long time readers can doubtless, the inevitable fucking ass bag just walks in and starts using the equimpent we need, so we have to skip over it, and it fucks up our rhythm. The Professor was the first to be irritated, because she was ahead of me in the rotation.

Anyway, these two stupid women were using the tricep extension machine, and in addition to monopolizing it, they were doing the shit fucking wrong. Anyway, one of them was a skinny-ish woman with disgusting saggy boobs, barely contained by her sports bra. I like big boobs as much as the next guy, but she looked like she was trying to smuggle two deflated basketballs full of lumpy oatmeal. The other woman looked like Melinda, the subnormal check-out girl in Sling Blade who brings Karl flowers on her lunch break.

So I said, a little under my breath, "Flowers sure is pretty. hmm. I've always thought that."

The professor looked up, saw what I was talking about and said, "I got you these flowers on sale, cuz they're not fresh."

(actually, this role playing got us kinda hot, so we went home and made some retard-love)

ANYWAY, the point is, if I did some yoga, I would have just been able to go up to these stupid whores and say, "Look, bitches, my wife and I are trying to complete a workout as prescribed by that gigantic fucking sign you walked past on the way to this machine. Since you two are most likely illiterate anyway, that's not really important, but it does say that this area is for members completing the circuit only. Get the fuck out of here and go downstairs to the other machine."

I also could have said to my brother, this morning, as I was driving him to the BART station, to hang up his fucking phone, because I hate it when I'm giving someone a ride, and they turn down MY radio so they can have a conversation, and everyone else in the car--in this case, it was only me, but still, it's fucking rude--has to listen to one side of the most boring conversation in history. Something about how $4.00 a lbs is too much to pay for donut holes, no matter how much lard is smeared on them.

U.S. Researchers Find Fat Gene

2009-03-24T10:19:00.000-07:00

That's right. An amazing new discovery of the gene that turns carbs into fat. Researchers have named the gene DNA-John Sousa, after the most disgusting fat man on Earth. From the article:

The gene, called DNA-John Sousa, appears to regulate the process in the liver that turns carbohydrates into fat, the University of California, Berkeley team reported on Thursday in the journal Cell.

"The DNA-John Sousa disabled mice were leaner and had 40 percent less body fat compared with a control group of normal mice because of their deficiency in turning carbs into fat," Wong said.

You can find the rest of the article here. In other news, I hear that UC Berkeley's engineering department is working on a way to shore up the levee system on that side of the Bay, just in case John ever jumps in again.

As for the gene discovery, it will be awesome when I can take drugs to regulate DNA-John Sousa. Then my strictly pizza diet will no longer be laughed at. I'll make millions. Millions!

Andy's Weigh-in, March 23: 226 lbs.

2009-03-23T20:18:00.000-07:00

So this hasn't been the best month in the Big Fat Sousa weight-loss competition. Both myself and my grotesquely overweight brother have both gained weight this month, but at least I haven't gained any weight since my last weigh-in.

This story is not a rare one in the quest to lose weight, as people who have decided to get healthier all sooner or later have set-backs. I found a great article in the The London Mirror that talks about how over-eating at Christmas sometimes creates problems, but it's still relevant to every set-back.

The key is to get right back up and dust yourself off. The good news is that I have decided to get back into my routine after a few very busy weeks at work. Today I swam a half-mile at lunch and walked about two miles from Downtown San Francisco to the 16th and Mission BART station after work.

The important thing is to not let your set-back get you down. The hard part for me will be taking the high road and not retaliating against every one of my brother's libelous posts.

John's Weigh-in, March 23: 248 lbs.

2009-03-23T09:44:00.001-07:00

Yeah, I've gained a couple pounds since the last weigh-in, but I appear to have changed my body enough that I'm managing to stay below the 250 lbs. pretty much for a month. I've been battling a cold, so my work out regimen has been disrupted somewhat. Also, March Madness is ongoing, so I've been eating a lot of chicken wings and drinking the occasional light beer. This week I'm feeling much better, and so I can get back to business.

In other good news, it really is true that nobody backs Andy into a corner. As you can see, his ab workout has already given him a rock-hard six pack.

Keep up the good work, bro.

Andy Makes an Exercise Video

2009-03-19T10:57:00.000-07:00

As you can see, my brother got himself a sports bro and started a hardcore ab training regimen. It's good to see him working out so hard and enjoying himself. And it's good that he rewards himself with a brownie for doing a heckuva job.

To help in his fitness quest, I've put together a workout playlist for him:

Weird Al, "Fat"

Heavy D and the Boys, "The Overweight Lover's in the House"

Big Pun Featuring Fat Joe, "Still not a Player"

Fat Boys, "The Fat Boys"

Bill Meddley and Jennifer Warnes: "(I had) The Time of Life"

This about 25 minutes of music, give or take, which is about as long as Andy can muster before he starts feeling light headed, and by then the exercise equipment is coated with a fine film of grease anyway.

You're probably looking at this list and thinking, "Wow, that last song really isn't like those other songs at all. It's not even about being fat." And you'd be right. I included it because it was Andy's favorite song in 1987. He even had the cassette single.

Andy's Weigh-in, March 18: 227 lbs.

2009-03-18T11:38:00.000-07:00

That's right. It's been two weeks since my last weigh-in, and all of that delicious food that was served at the conference I attended in Arizona has erased all progress made in February. It's just as well, as my brother has been so fucking grumpy lately that he should get a win.

In other news, things look bad for my brother as a recent study has determined that his neck fat may increase his risk of a heart attack.

A Close-up of John's Neck

To quote the article:

"Neck circumference was associated with cardiometabolic risk factors, even after adjustment for visceral adipose tissue," the researchers wrote in the report, which was to be presented Wednesday at the American Heart Association's Cardiovascular Disease Epidemiology and Prevention annual conference in Palm Harbor, Fla. The standard ways to assess obesity is to measure the waistline and determine body-mass index. But neck fatness could add to the risk assessment a physician makes by measuring the waistline, the researchers said. "Upper-body subcutaneous adipose tissue and visceral adipose tissue independently contribute to cardiometabolic risk," they reported.

What the fuck does that mean? I'm not quite sure, but I think it says that if your neck looks like John's, you might be in trouble.

Adventures in the Computer Lab

2009-03-17T17:48:00.000-07:00

While waiting with bated breath for my brother to publish his weigh-in, I'm sitting in the computer lab at the University of San Francisco, where the signs admonishing people to stay the fuck off their cell phones is routinely ignored.

For example, this fucking asshole sitting next to me at this very moment. He answered his iPhone, and then said, "I'm emotionally flat...I'm just going to delete my facebook account...I'm sorry, because it's just dumb...and it could hurt my eventual political career...I mean, I just don't want all these people knowing this stuff about me...St. Patrick's day is just stupid. Especially for people who aren't Irish but celebrate it, it's just dumb. I just think it's a dumb, capitalized, commercialized holiday...no it's just, I think...I'm sorry...it's just the way I'm feeling today...[huge sigh]...maybe I'm just it's why I hate America, it's so commercialized, from the arts to the internet to everything it's just the way this shit hole country is...that's why i'm going to the international law school so I can work in another country..."

And blah blah blah. Just go fucking kill yourself.

John's Weigh-in, March 16: 246 lbs.

2009-03-16T08:05:00.000-07:00

Hi. My name is John, and I'm a fat son of a bitch.

In other news, New Jersey is considering banning Brazilian bikini waxes, which means that when Andy visits Atlantic City for Thunder Over The Boardwalk--which is apparently an event where bored New Jersey residents sit under the boardwalk while Andy walks above them--he'll have to rock his Speedo-and-crucifix ensemble over his hair shirt.

Now, since I'm still battling this cold, I'm going to take a nap.

I'm Back

2009-03-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

So I have to admit, it's been very hard to focus on the blog lately, as I have been very busy at work. At least it's given John some time to catch up on clowning me. I have noticed that the readership has taken a nose-dive in the past week and a half, and I apologize that my brother is not very interesting, nor in the least bit funny.

The good news is that he finally got his book published, and I was really away in Arizona figuring out how to promote it. The first thing we did was get him a hair piece because let's face it, bald is okay, and sometimes fat is okay, but being the bald fat guy is just tough.

Another reason I have been away is because I've always got to fix my brother's screw-ups. Unfortunately he made a retarded blunder in choosing his pen name and I was meeting with some lawyers to figure out what to do. He'll probably get sued, but hey, that's why we pay lawyers. Just make sure you all buy it so John will have something to pay them with.

Just for the sake of trivia, he was going to call the book Too Fat to Fuck, but his mom convinced him to change it because she would be too embarassed at her obese-anon meetings. I mean, it was hard enough for her to stand up in the first meeting and say "My name is John's mom and he's a fat son of a bitch." I don't even think she realized her poor choice of wording when everyone chuckled.

Where's Andy?

2009-03-12T09:50:00.000-07:00

I picked my brother up at the airport last night around 10:45. He told me he had a wonderful time at Fat Camp, playing Dance Dance Revolution and photocopying his ass.

So hopefully he'll make a post today and tell us how it feels to be a champ.

John's Weigh-In March 9: 245 lbs

2009-03-10T10:59:00.000-07:00

Holding steady this week, which is nice, whatever.

Sorry for the delay in posting, but things are kind of hectic around the house. My wife is sick, and so I'm taking care of her and our daughter and going to work and school.

I know, call the waaaambulance, right?

But wait, there's more. My brother, fresh off of his zeitgeist-defining speech at CPAC, decided he needed a break and flew off to Arizona on Sunday, leaving me to take care of not only the afore-mentioned wife and child but also his stupid, needy, barks-at-every-car-that-drives-past-and- destroys-my-mail-dog, Rufus.

(Seriosly, Daily Show? You're ripping Big, fat, me off now?)

ANYWAY, by keeping active and eating right, I'm managing my stress and the house, even my brother's stupid dog.

Hopefully, Andy makes it out of Arizona with neither his obesity nor a flash of lightning having killed him.

Let us pray.

Quarter Ton of Man Meat: Week Nine

2009-03-06T19:00:00.001-08:00

For comparison, click here, here, there, here, and here. This is what you call "incontrovertible visual evidence" of the Sousa boys losing weight. Unless Walt Coleman is judging, in which case we're gaining weight.

Why I'm Glad I Started Exercising

2009-03-06T13:58:00.000-08:00

I was just in Blockbuster, trying to rent RockBand (the first one) for XBox 360.

It's very important that "360" is added on and included in that first sentence, because not doing so will earn you a condescending lecture from acne-scarred young woman behind the counter.

I know this because when I asked her if they carry RockBand 1 for XBox, she said, "We don't carry XBox games any more."

"Um," I said. "Yeah, they're right over there."

"Oh," she said. "You meant XBox 360. You have to specify."

Well, how stupid of me. I guess I'm just the asshole of the week.

The thing is, if I hadn't been fresh off a 35-minute jog and therefor in the middle of a very pleasant runner's high, I might have treated this budding little employee of the month to a lecture of my own on the decline of quality customer service in this country.

As it is, I'm content to just never go into a Blockbuster again, just like I no longer go into FedEx Kinko's.

In fact, I may just go back in there and suggest she send her resume across the parking lot, where she'd be an immediate management candidate.

Someone is Trying to Tell Me Something

2009-03-05T10:34:00.000-08:00

So I get into the office, and my friend Theresa asks me if I'd like to hear my horoscope. I said, "Lay it on me," so she read Cancer from nightlightnews.com:

CANCER (June 21-July 20): Ponder upon how you want to be seen, known and recognized in the world and in the context of helping to build the new culture and civilization - your work now, you know. You are to nurture the new era at its foundational stages. Begin your garden soon, have a worm bin, create bio-dynamic soil, save seeds. Then teach everyone your discoveries. Cancer’s nurturance needs to move from feeding the world to helping them feed themselves.

At first I heard this and I thought, "Wow, John, the universe is directing you here, and you're fucking up."

But then I thought about it, and I don't know, and I guess you can tell me in the comments, but it seems to me like I'm on the right track here. I want to be seen and recognized as not a great big, sweaty, greasy ass, fat ass bastard.

The only thing is, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that all that stuff about gardens and worm bins and seeds is metaphorical, because I despise yard work.

Seriously, I hate it.

By the way, the lobster accompanying the Cancer horoscope looks Delicious.

Learn Something New Everyday

2009-03-05T09:28:00.000-08:00

Today I learned that if I wear a headband when I work out, it keeps the sweat out of my eyes. I was concerned about looking like a dork, though, so I wore the toughest headband I have, my Oakland Raiders headband.

The Raiders Headband is Macho enough

You may also have noticed that my butch mustache is gone. Sorry about that. It really did work. I had my best month of fitness yet. It was so good, I figure, that I should grow a full beard this month.

Because history is full of heroes with beards that were tough and in great shape. People like Moses, Jesus, Black Moses, Z.Z. Top, and Abe Lincoln. Everybody loves them. And it proves that if a man has a beard, he's destined for great things.

On second thought...maybe not so much.

So maybe beards like those dudes have is a little overkill. Maybe I should just try to rock a Joey Fatone beard.

It works for my lawyer. Ask anyone who knows him, he looks exactly like Joey Fatone. And, he's not only my lawyer, he's one of my fitness heroes, because back in the day, when we were both bachelors, and before he was a lawyer, he was my roommate. More than a roommate, though, he was a coach. He taught me a great set of ab exercises.

So I know what I'm talking about.

What Happens to John When he Drinks More than 3 Beers at a Sitting

2009-03-04T12:05:00.001-08:00

Last week in my weigh-in post, I mentioned how I'd been working hard and gained four pounds because I'd spent the weekend drinking beer and eating pizza, and how the combination of carbs caused me to balloon four pounds in 2 days.

But after some experimenting this weekend, I realized that the pizza didn't have anything to do with it. It was all beer.

See, Saturday was my wife's birthday, and for a special treat she wanted to me bake calzones, which as everyone knows have the same crust as pizza. In fact, I even used Trader Joe's pizza dough. Anyway, then we played Rock Band all night, but instead of drinking beer, I drank various cocktails made with vodka (mixed with red bull, orange juice, grapefruit juice, club soda, etc).

What happened? I didn't gain any weight, and I'd even lost a pound off of Friday's monthly contest weigh-in.

So while it indeed saddens me to learn that I really can't drink my beloved, frosty beverage, at least I know the cause of my previous weekend's bloating.

Also, see below for a visual example of what happens to me after drinking 11 or 12 beers in a weekend:

Cheers. And yes, when I explode, cabbage comes out. Deal with it.

Andy's Weigh-in, March 2: 221 lbs.

2009-03-03T13:59:00.000-08:00

I think I said all I needed to say yesterday, so here's something fun to watch, even though it's beating a dead horse.

I mean, get with it Obama, we already figured out that my sibling is WAY fatter.

John's Weigh-in, March 2: 245 lbs

2009-03-02T20:16:00.000-08:00

So, astute readers will remember that in February, among my strategies to kick some ass in this competition was to grow a butch mustache:

¿Quién es mas macho: Juan o su hermanito gordo?

As you can clearly see, I'm way more macho than my fat ass little brother. And he needs to get his facts straight. I didn't spend all of our money on a subscription to Douche Bag Mustache Monthly Magazine. I spent it bribing the judges of the Douche Bag Mustache of the Month Contest.

To make things even worse, I lost to this guy's (note, may be NSFW!) homage to Kurt Vonnegut. I guess it's just a good thing his girlfriend doesn't go to Lonni's Punani for a landing strip or it would have been an homage to Hitler.

But even if I haven't technically "won" the competition with Gordito, I have lost 12 lbs in just under two months of diet and exercise. And I feel fantastic.

And not even my cheating ass brother can take that away.

And I ain't sorry for shit, except for maybe losing to that muff diver.

An Apology to Our Fans

2009-03-02T18:05:00.000-08:00

Many of you no doubt visited the blog this weekend and were disappointed that there was not a hilarious video starring myself and my big fat sorry excuse for a brother doing something retarded. Do not fret, the stupid has just been delayed.

It's all my brother's fault really, and I'll get to that in a minute. But first, the results from February. Unfortunately, I lost. But again I am saved like the Patriots in a snow storm because of John's fucktardedness in using scales. His original weight had to be adjusted from 264 down to 257 because he's fat AND stupid.

He then lost 7 pounds in January to put him at 250. In February he lost a total of 4 pounds, wieghing in on February 28 at 246 pounds to achieve a total weight loss of 1.6 percent.

I myself started the month off slow, even gaining a few pounds in a set-back, but rallied to go from 226 pounds to 221, losing a total of 5 pounds to achieve a total weight loss of 2.2 percent. If we measure from the initial weight, he wins. If we measure only from the month of February, I win. So we've decided to call this month a draw.

Our journey over the last two months has taught us the best way to measure the competition. First, Uncle Pete reached through the haze left over from 1970's to teach us that we must measure by percentage of body weight lost, or John would always win, given that he is way fatter.

Then, on Friday, Travis Lavin, mybigfatsousa fan and friend, pointed out that we need to start each month with a new baseline. If we started at the original weight, there would be points at which, again because my brother is sooo much fatter, John could actually gain weight and I would still lose.

So here are the rules going forward. We will judge percentage of body weight lost from the initial wiegh-in on the Monday after the competition. I will most likely gorge myself all weekend so the my baseline is a bit higher. That way I will always win.

Now, the other reason we weren't able to record the video. Because we got much complaints about how shitty the first video was, we decided to save up money to have the video produced by a professional.

I found out at the last minute that my brother had spent all of the money on a subscription to Douche-bag Mustache Monthly. He no longer gets to handle financial aspects of our endeavor. And if he doesn't shape up I'm quitting his stupid blog.

Time Magazine: Best Diet is "Eat Less Food"

2009-02-26T10:01:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm glad somebody had the balls to say it. Time picks up a study published in the New England Journal of Medicine and runs with it like it's a new discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls or something. Apparently, eating less calories than you burn makes you lose weight.

No shit? You mean all this time, all my brother had to do was eat only half of his garbage plate, and he wouldn't be in the running for World's Fattest Man? Although, after all these years, I had no idea my brother was Left Handed.

Time also provides a handy slide show of things that make people eat more. My favorite is the revelation that restaurants will keep their thermostat low so that people will eat more, because being cold makes you hungry.

And here all this time, I thought it was because Kitchens are fucking hot, what with all the open flame and gigantic ovens and whatnot, not to mention the fact that waiters and waitresses are hustling all over the place, schlepping 72 oz. steaks to your table.

But shit, at least it's low carb.

No Rules

2009-02-24T09:00:00.000-08:00

This morning, Professor Sousa and I were able to get up and out the door, with the baby dropped off at her grandparents' house, in time to make it to the gym for a morning workout.

It's nice to incorporate these things into a family routine, you know.

So anyway, of course, we're doing the Planet Fitness PF Express 30 Minute Workout (it's the 2nd-to-last picture in the slideshow) when this woman--let's call her "Frumpy McHerpes-Lip" because of her workout gear (a sweater with an ironed-on kitty cat that would make Dolores Umbridge pee herself in envy) and the open sore on her mouth--went right to the ab station in front of the cardio step Ashley was doing. So that we had to wait for this dumbass to finish violating Planet Fitness policy before we could move on to our next station. At least the older lady wearing a "Jesus puts a Song in My Heart"--as if that gives carte blanche to just violate any old rules she wants to--had the courtesy to use machines that we'd already used.

"It's like Outback Steakhouse up in here," the Professor whispered, in her sexiest, snark-laden tone.

At first I thought she was referring to the fact that the two ladies looked like the type of women who would eat at Outback Steakhouse after Church on Sundays. She must have intuited this response, because then she said, "What's Outback's slogan?"

"Oh yeah. 'No rules, Just right?'" (Apparently now it's "Crave On." Because fat people in this country need to be encouraged to gorge themselves on Bloomin' Onions and ranch dressing. I know I do.)

"Yup."

So anyway, the lady either heard us ridiculing us through the Celine Dion blasting through her ear buds and was appropriately chastised, or she's just a half-assed worker outer, because she got up and left and we were able to finish our program with only the barest interruption.

Have a great day.

Andy's Weigh-in, February 23: 223 lbs

2009-02-23T20:58:00.000-08:00

Don't call it a comeback!

Just when everyone was counting me out, it seems that I am still competitive this month and grumpy ass John is back in full force. To follow up on his explanation for the infrequent posting, it seems as though I just can't find the time to write with all the laying around, drinking beer and watching old reruns of the OC.

So what's my game-winning strategy? I decided to reject the standard liberal hatred of charter schools to check one out in particular that caters to obese children. It's a little weird that all the kids are 20 or more years younger than I am, but it turns out the only thing keeping me obese was people making fun of me because I AM obese. Also, it's amazing how much you can learn if no one is calling you a fat fuck every ten minutes.

Plus, I've been reading The Secret. Apparently you can will yourself into dropping five clothes sizes just by waking up in the morning and saying, "I'm not fat, I'm big boned and beautiful."

I'll be down to size 60 jeans in no time. Too bad John's such a negative nelly, or the diverticulitis could have been the start of something beautiful.

John's Weigh-in, February 23: 252 lbs.

2009-02-23T20:05:00.000-08:00

You know what the most awesome thing about this contest is? I work out, hard, every day. I eat better foods. I get outdoors and in general stay very active. Even my job has me carrying 25-lbs. boxes from my car into various school offices and back all day.

And so even though the visual evidence--not to mention various off-the-record weigh-ins I conduct throughout the week--which would lead me to believe otherwise, I gained four fucking pounds.

And you know what the absolute best part is? I have to hear about it from everyone in my house, how Andy doesn't do shit but the weight is dripping off him. And then my wife starts in, and she's all "You're probably just bloated because you drank beer and ate pizza on Saturday, and if you'd quit cheating and stop eating carbs, like I told you to, but you never listen, do you, Jackass?"

It's enough to drive a person bat shit insane. Not my wife. She's right. But just the up and down. I guess it's good that in general I'm still going in the right direction, i.e. I'm not as fat as I was when I started this project, but still, on days like I feel like I'm getting debacled.

Special thanks to Fat Jimmy, Moira O'Neil with her mom and sister, and Travis Lavin and Steve Kerns to making it out to Fort Funston on Saturday. We had a great time, and maybe we'll do it again, when the weather will be guaranteed to be pleasant.

Also, a word about the recent infrequent postings. School has started for me (you would never guess it by reading this blog, but I'm a student in USF's MFA in Writing program...they'll probably kick me out if they ever see this blog, I know I wouldn't want people thinking this is what they teach there), and what with work, school, and cheating on my fucking diet with donuts and beer and in general doing my part to save the economy, well, I just haven't had the time I'd like to dedicate to this.

I will now go for a run in traffic, dressed all in black.

A Quarter Ton of Man Meat: Week Seven

2009-02-21T08:52:00.001-08:00

Hopefully, the plumber will get here and be done in time for John to make it to Fort Funston. Comparison shots here, here, here, and here.

Happy Friday: Don't Forget About My Big, Fat Fort Funston

2009-02-20T15:36:00.000-08:00

Don't worry, there will be a normal Man Meat post later this evening, where you can see how we're looking and check out my new, butch mustache.

But I wanted to make sure and remind everyone to come and hang out with us tomorrow at Fort Funston. It should be a lot of fun, although there's nothing seriously structured planned. Just come out, say hello, hang out with some cool people, and watch Andy not clean up after his dog.

We'll be there around noonish.

UPDATE: It should be noted, just so I don't take for granted the relative intelligence of our readers, that if it should it rain tomorrow, our Big, Fat Fort Funston outing will be canceled. So, before you head out there, look up into the sky, and if there is water coming down upon you, then go back inside. Or whatever, go to Fort Funston, but I won't be there.

Hitting the Wall

2009-02-19T07:17:00.001-08:00

Yesterday morning, I dropped my daughter off at preschool and was about to got to the gym when I was hit with this wave of exhaustion. I decided I couldn't work out; what I needed to do was go straight home and take a nap.

Since it was my day off, I did exactly that.

I realized, once I'd awaken from this luxurious late-morning nap, is that I'd worked out 9 straight days. My body was telling me it needed to rest.

Then I found out that, per the Arizona Department of Health Services, obesity is more dangerous than lightning (with my BMI, it's a good thing I live in California, where lightning is still much more lethal). You really should read the whole article, it's short, and full of gems such as

The Public Health Services Deputy Director says, "Obesity is more dangerous than lightning. Most people will run away from lightning, but they won’t walk up the stairs instead of taking the elevator."

According to this Lightning Facts page--and I found it on the internet so it must be true--it would seem to me to be fucking impossible to "run away" from lightning, since what you see is actually the "highly illuminated return stroke, which propagates from the ground to the cloud." In other, less poetic words, Ben Johnson at his most 'roided couldn't run away from a stroke of lightning.

The article does dispense some priceless advice, a bullet-pointed notice to "be active, exercise/Eat nutritious foods in the right portions/Stop smoking." In other news, rain is fucking wet, snow is cold, and they don't get a lot of either in Arizona (though apparently they have rocket scientists working in the Department of Health).

Andy's Weigh-in, February 16: 226 lbs.

2009-02-16T21:04:00.000-08:00

Well, it looks like I have somehow gotten myself down to the same weight that won me the first month's competition. It's been fun too, because I have been doing absolutley nothing to win. It's probably the reason my brother has been so Goddamn crabby.

The reason I haven't really been competing has to do with a few things. As you know, I was sick for a week, which made it hard to exercise. On Saturday, my brother was kind enough to try and get me back into my routine by joining me for a swim. Unfortunately, so much gravy seeped out of his skin that Club One spent all day Sunday dumping enough chlorine into it to make it right. On Monday it was still closed.

So I compensated with more Perfect Push-ups than I normally do and tweeked my lower back. For the rest of week I took it easy swimming and cut down on the amount of exercising I had planned. Basically I have been a sad-sack lazy bastard while John has turned himself into some kind of Tony Little impersonator.

I am looking forward to Big Fat Fort Funston. It looks like many of our old friends are planning to come out and bring their kids and dogs. And spending time with friends is very important for health and well-being. I know, because it was in the London Telegraph and everything they report is true.

John's Weigh-in, February 16: 248 lbs.

2009-02-16T11:15:00.000-08:00

Happy Presidents' Day.

Getting below 250 is huge for me psychologically. Regular readers will note that I was pretty salty last week, especially after my weigh-in. So thank you to everyone last week who complimented me on my appearance; you have no idea how vain and insecure I really, really am, and my day was made each time. It seemed like the world was conspiring against me last week, thanks to, for example and among other things, headlines like "Portly Johns," even though the article has nothing to do with me, specifically, it's just that my name happens to be John, and I'm trying not to be portly, and I forget that in addition to being the term for a guy who engages prostitutes, John is also a euphemism for toilet--good times.

Also, my brother keeps asking me the stupidest questions, just to provoke me. Like just now, as I'm typing this, he asks me, "How far is it to Safeway, do you think?" I know the answer the answer to this, since I happened to drive there the other day when my odometer was set to 0, and it's about a mile. So he says, "There and back?"

Then he says, "Where do you think the cheapest place to buy a toothbrush is? To which I replied "Walgreens," and he says, "Do you really think that's cheaper than Safeway?" I then sighed, because I'm trying to concentrate on blogging but instead I'm being distracted by his ridiculous goddam questions, the answers to which he could easily obtain by looking them on the fucking internet, all by himself, without bothering me. (For example, you can get a toothbrush at Walgreens for 99 cents; Safeway's website does not let you search for teethbrushes). After I sighed, he asked, all innocently, as if he were a fucking autistic mystified by the vagueries of human interaction, why I was so angry, which I then explained, which cause Ashley to yell at us that we were the most boring sons of bitches on the face of the earth.

So there you have it. I'm doing better this week, as long as Andy doesn't ask me any more stupid questions that easily find the answers to himself, if weren't a lazy goddamned fat stupid asshole.

A Quarter Ton of Man Meat: Week Six

2009-02-13T21:49:00.001-08:00

For comparison see here, here, and here. Not too bad for a Friday the 13th.

An End to Bitterness

2009-02-11T10:12:00.001-08:00

Wow, who was that guy, and what was his problem?

I've discovered that I need to start my day with some physical activity, whether it's going to the gym, running around the block, or waking Andy up with a kick to the nuts (that totally could have been us 25 years ago if we'd been able to afford a video camera and YouTube existed).

Because if I don't start my day like with exercise, I turn into a crabby sumbitch. It felt like I was going through withdrawals. I guess that's why they call it "Getting High on Life," because if you don't get your fix, you end up calling people "Nazi Assholes" and wishing STIs on people.

So my plan is to workout every morning, as soon as possible, do some deep breathing yoga exercises to alleviate stress. Also, I'm growing a butch mustache, because the fitness heroes of my youth--Magnum P.I., Chuck Norris, Matt Houston, and Uncle Pete--all had really macho mustaches.

John's Weigh-in, February 9: 252

2009-02-09T16:57:00.000-08:00

I was all excited this morning, because I felt like last week was my best week of workouts since I started this project. My clothes fit better, my mood has been better, I have more energy. You'd think that would be enough to sustain me and keep me excited about kicking my brother's ass.

And it was, until I found out that I've gained a pound.

And everyone that I've told has said, "Muscle weighs more than fat," as if that's supposed to make me feel better. If I wanted to gain muscle weight I'd call up Victor Conte and take some A-Roids. It's a weight loss contest, and right now, I'm fucking losing.

So here is a partial list of things that have infuriated me since I stepped off that scale this morning:

My brother, because, as he gloated earlier, spent the week getting drunk, sitting on the couch watching CNN with the volume at full blast like a fucking AARP member, and eating top ramen, and still lost more weight than me
the asshole who honked at me when I was stopped for a fucking crossing guard at a fucking crosswalk
the short bus that held up traffic on Ocean Ave to let a retard out at the the Presbyterian Church and School on Ocean Avenue
the City of San Francisco, where I live, for being home to a particular brand of douche bag like Stephen Elliot and Chicken John Rinaldi

This last one probably deserves some explanation, since it's a little off topic. Big, Fat Sousa fan Steve Kerns posted a column to his Facebook page by Caille Millner about the San Francisco Planning Commission's decision to not allow American Apparel to open a store in an empty store front on Valencia St, in the Mission District. The crowd that gathered to oppose the store shouted down immigrant workers and said stereotypical San Francisco things like, "Our neighborhood is a dream, a delicate flower."

Over at Elliot's blog, you get a taste of what this is like in a guest post by some Nazi asshole named Werner Werwie:

My name is Werner Werwie. I immigrated to San Francisco from Germany in 1984 and fulfilled the American Dream. I leaned the language and submerged myself into the subculture of San Francisco by opening my first store Clothes Contact. We were the first used clothing store on Valencia Street.We opened our first store in 1986 on 473 Valencia at 16th Street. Clothes Contact was a true early pioneer on Valencia street.

Dig the Michael Savage-style Borders, Language, and Culture-flavored rant. Unlike the dirty Latin and Asian immigrants who work for American Apparel and don't speak English or share our common values and culture, we're a "pure Pioneer." And you'd think the guy who wrote this book would have something in common with the founder of American Apparel, Dov Charney.

I hope the next Stephen Elliott's girlfriend comes to the city and beats him up, she leaves marks. And gives him syphillis.

Chicken John Rinaldi is even dumber, for giving this quote to C.W. Nevius last week, at the protest:

"Everyone I know is wearing an American Apparel T-shirt right now. I wear one every day."

What an ignorant pigfucker. I hope he gets bird flu.

Fuck the World.

Andy's Weigh-in, February 9: 227 lbs.

2009-02-09T16:47:00.000-08:00

My brother just sent me an email letting me know that he hates the world. It ended with him saying "fuck this stupid planet and my cursed life."

I wonder if it's because I did not exercise at all this week because I was sick, and yet, I have still managed to lose a pound, while he gained a few. Odds are that he has actually gained a few pounds of muscle through his work out routine - those girl push ups are hard to do, and so is hanging from a bar.

I do hope he cheers up and doesn't decide to swallow a bullet or slip into a warm tub and open a vein, if only for the selfish reason that I would feel an obligation to take care of my niece and I am too damn broke to take care of myself. Plus, I probably have to move out of the garage and find a place to live.

For everyone else, here's a great article from the Hartford Courant debunking 10 of the most prevalent diet myths. I was hoping that eating mass amounts of donuts in a wife beater and boxer shorts being unhealthy would be in there, but alas, we still have to believe that lie.

Quarter Ton of Man Meat: Week 5

2009-02-06T19:38:00.000-08:00

Anyone who can see a difference is paying way too much attention...

Fan Art

2009-02-06T11:24:00.000-08:00

My former co-worker, Anthony Kearns, made this cartoon for My Big, Fat Sousa:

I'm not sure if that's supposed to be me or my fat-ass brother, but you can view more of Antoine's art here.

And it's nice to see he's still working hard.

Also, we encourage this type of thing, so if you want to send us pictures or videos that you've made that are inspired by us--and don't act like you're not inspired by the Big, Fat Sousa boys--or even if you just want to tell us your own inspiring story, email us at bigfatsousa@gmail.com

John's BMI: 31.4 Which Makes him Obese

2009-02-05T20:28:00.000-08:00

For my self-esteem boost of the day, I decided to calculate my BMI. I used this website here, which is pretty handy.

It also has a page where you can calculate your "ideal" weight, the idea being that you can set goals and it will have some kind of basis in science. There is a lot of interesting information on this site, and compared to a couple of the others I checked out, this one seemed to be the easiest to use and have the most interesting discussions of the various formulas.

But obese? Really? Are you kidding me? I always thought "obese" was reserved for people who use mobility scooters or stand in line leaning cane at the DMV yelling at their 7 bad children to stop playing with the meth-lady's 4 bad kids.

I have to say, though, that in a perverse way, I needed to be told that. No, I don't have type-2 diabetes, but I have had digestive problems, as well as my issues with depression and anxiety and not being able to stop eating chicken wings when they're thrust in front of me, especially if they're accompanied by cold beers. And I'm not a masochist, either. While I appreciate a good laugh at my expense, I was unprepared for "obese." Still, it's added an extra incentive for me to get in shape. I don't want some fucking computer to be calling me "obese."

But at least it didn't say "morbidly."

Goddam it. On a whim, I thought about seeing how it described a BMI of 43.9, which is what it would be if someone my height (6'3") wheighed 351 lbs. It still described that person as "Obese." Anything over 400 lbs and it tells you to "re-calculate." That's terrible. Someone should engineer a calculator smart enough to say something like, "DAAAAAAMN!" if it gets above a certain number.

Anyway, one of the interesting things on the "ideal" weight page, is that the "People's Choice" ideal weight for someone my age--34--and my height is 218 lbs, which is about what I weighed in late 2000, early 2001. At that time, I was going to the gym near my house in Oakland every morning, and walking around Lake Merritt every night. I wasn't even really dieting at that time. And that was a good weight for me. I'd still like to get under 200, so I can win the BevMo card. And that would also destroy Andy's percentage.

And I wouldn't be technically "obese" any more, either.

Sigh.

Andy's Weigh-in, February 3: 228 lbs.

2009-02-03T21:59:00.000-08:00

That's right. Fresh off my victory I gorged myself on Krispy Kreme Doughnuts, had an awesome burrito at El Taco Loco in the Mission and drank so much Pabst that John threw-up for hours. It was a great weekend. I even saw a woman spew hot butt coffee out of her pant-leg onto the sidewalk.

And just to clarify, WE weren't weighing in on different scales, etc. etc. The real story is that John weighed in on three different scales, at three different times of day, wearing different outfits. And the word on the street is that the first time he weighed in on "the broken scale" he also had like forty dollars in quarters in his pockets. All to make it look like he lost HELLA weight.

What we did learn this weekend - besides the fact that shit floats - is that the best way to measure our progress is by percentage of body weight loss rather than by pounds. Think about it. If we both weighed two hundred pounds tomorrow, there's no way I can win because he would have lost 64 pounds, or 57 pounds or whatever it would be depending on which scale he used and what he was wearing at the time. The most awesome part is that it took someone who couldn't say "A Broken Asshole" to figure it out.

So, I have been set back by my hedonistic weekend, and I'm also now sick. My bet at the moment is on John to win in February.

Now, back to my Kegel exercises...

John's Weigh-in, February 3: 251 lbs.

2009-02-03T09:22:00.000-08:00

Took a couple of days off to celebrate Super Bowl Sunday with some fans of the blog, and now I'm back.

Okay, first off, I didn't lose 6 lbs since Saturday, when I had to go in the drink. We've standardized our weigh-in process. Before, my fat-ass brother and I were weighing in on different scales, in different gyms, in different states of undress. From now on we'll weigh in on the same scale, in the same state of undress, boxer shorts only (Videos of this can be made available to fetishists for $79.99).

And speaking of Saturday, that was some bullshit. Uncle Pete's "calculation" and subsequent ruling was the second worst officiating screw-job since January 19, 2002. Whatever. I took my lumps like a man and cannon balled my gelatinous ass into the bay at Oyster Point in Brisbane.

And since the Sousa brothers are kind of like the Corsican Brothers, in that if you cock punch John, Andy's vagina hurts, my jumping into the freezing-ass bay made Andy sick. So he may or may not weigh in and work out this week.

Month One Judgement: A Big, Fat Sousa in the Drink

2009-01-31T21:10:00.000-08:00

Witness the Magnificent

TGIFF

2009-01-30T13:52:00.000-08:00

Happy Friday, party people. I'm on my way to the gym to weigh myself for the last time this month. I'm a little nervous about jumping in the cold-ass San Francisco Bay.

I just can't describe how fantastic I feel. I haven't felt this good since the week of December 2, 2007. I chalk it up to a number of things, mainly my improved diet and exercise schedule.

The other night, I had this incredible craving for salty, carby snacks. In particular, I was craving Totino's Pizza Rolls. Writing this, I can almost taste, hot and crispy out of the oven, with some of the cheesy goodness exploded out of the side. Anyway, so I got home and of course, we didn't have any in the refrigerator. So what I made instead was a plate of nachos with black beans, grilled chicken, and pepper-jack cheese over some stale tortilla chips. It hit the spot.

Then, for dessert, I had a package--that means I ate two of these bastards--of blueberry Nature's Path Organic Frosted Toaster Pastries. I figured, what the fuck, they're organic, right?

But I feel so good that even if I lose to my fat ass brother, I won't be mad. I'll happily dip my flabby fat-body in the bay with a shit-eating grin on my face. I'm not even mad that his stupid-ass dog, the half-Pit Bull, half-pug Rufus, ate the mail yesterday, including the latest issue of the New Yorker. I don't even know what's on the cover; I'm still waiting waiting for that bastard to crap it out.

So have a great weekend. I plan to drink some beers, eat some unhealthy, salty snacks, watch the game, and be back at it Monday morning.

My Big, Fat Celebrity Interview with Ashlee Simpson

2009-01-29T10:09:00.000-08:00

Well, today just may be my lucky day. Even though I am still anxious about my possible dunk in the cold ass Bay this weekend, I got a surprise email from Ashlee Simpson, who this week lashed out about the controversy surrounding her sister's recent weight gain. She generously agreed to be My Big, Fat Sousa's first real-live celebrity interview.

mbfs: So. thanks for agreeing to talk to us. You know, we're all about having a responsible dialogue with the world about the challenges people have losing weight and staying healthy. We never thought celebrities read our blog. How did you become a fan?

as: Well, I'm not really, I mean I am now, but you know, I basically did a google search for "my big fat sister," and well, you guys were like on the fourth page. It was strange though, because there wasn't really anything about Jessica, and she's like a big star. I like your blog, though, and your brother's star boobies are pretty hot.

Her "Fat" Sister?

Out Fatted!

mbfs: Okay, fair enough. So you really let the people who are gossiping about your sister have it. I mean, here we are after the inauguration, people are ready for change, they have hopes and are ready to re-build our nation, and then Bam! Back to this bull about how fat or skinny celebrities are. Tell me how that made you feel.

as: Well, at first I was kind of excited about it. My publicist told me that we should capitalize on this publicity, so I wrote a statement about how it serves that cow right for stealing my boyfriend in the third grade. I mean, I've always been the hotter sister and I'm so much more talented. But when I gave it to them, they said it wasn't what they had in mind. They re-wrote that other stuff. I was kinda mad, I mean, where was she when I got all the flack for my nose-job?

mbfs: I know what you mean. My brother used to be super skinny and handsome in high school. He was the captain of the basketball team and all the girls swooned over him. We actually went to the same college, and for the first year it was much of the same. My sophomore year he went to Denver for a few months because he flunked out like three times. He must have done nothing but sit around eating pizza by himself because when he came back he had gained like 40 pounds. Secretly I was pumped, because then all the hot, popular girls said I was the good looking Sousa.

as: I know! It's like she thought those cases of ho-hos she ate due to the stress of dating that choke artist boyfriend of hers wouldn't be noticed at the chili cook-off. I mean, like, maybe I could do Duke's of Hazard II, you know? I think I need to fire my agent and publicist for re-writing my statement. It's hard being famous for being the wife of that dude that keeps showing his c%#k on the Internet. I don't mind telling you this stuff, because, like no one reads your blog.

mbfs: Wow.

Doctor's Office.

2009-01-27T15:40:00.000-08:00

As promised, I had a doctor's appointment. In what is sure to cause some controversy that will have to be addressed at another time, my weight, fully clothed, was 254 lbs. I'm not sure how I lost five lbs overnight, and besides, this is not official in terms of the contest. And the physics of scale calibration are above my pay grade, but if Andy has to jump in the Bay (as the voting now stands), I'm sure he'll cry shenanigans.

But mainly that's because he's a fat, grumpy, complaining, dickhead. If you give him a Klondike Bar, he complains it's not an It's-It. If you give him Crisco, he wants lard. He once tried to argue that he should get to live in Lily's room, and that Lily should sleep down in his space in the garage, because he pays rent and Lily doesn't.

He's a classy guy.

Anyway, my doctor said that my broken ass...er diverticulitis, is probably healed since I'm not experiencing any more pain. He approved of my diet and exercise plan, and gave me a refill on my albuterol inhaler. My blood pressure is good, and he ordered a blood test to check my cholesterol.

I'll post an update when the cholesterol comes in.

Too Bad John's Mom Did Not Read This

2009-01-27T11:43:00.002-08:00

I wonder if breastfeeding him until he was nine was detrimental too...

"I'm not fat, I'm pregnant... but my baby might be"

Anyway, it's an interesting article from the Orlando Sentinel.

Andy's Weigh-in, January 26: 229 lbs.

2009-01-26T20:54:00.000-08:00

I am happy to report that I have lost a total of three whole pounds in three weeks, although I am a little anxious for this weekend. My fat-ass brother is still two pounds ahead of me in the competition and it looks like the bell may toll for me. Plus to top it off, Uncle Pete is coming up from Los Osos to act as judge, jury and executioner.

Uncle Pete is the coolest, mellowest person you'll ever meet. Unless of course you are competing with him in some kind of sporting event. Then he's like a drill sergeant on methamphetamine. You know, like the guy who pulled the .38 snub nose out of his car to threaten the ump who made a bad call during your Little League game. I mean, of course that's how he would be if he was from Antioch...

Uncle Pete says, "Aargh"

One of my fondest memories of Uncle Pete was playing basketball when we were little kids. He used to tell me and John that if we won, he would buy us a milkshake. Of course being who we are, the idea of a cold, frothy, thick and creamy glass of sugary goodness was more motivating than [REDACTED] is to Todd St. [REDACTED].

When you're twelve, nothing instills a competitive edge more than being cheap-seated over and over again by someone who keeps yelling, "In Your Face!" In fact, it's helped me relate to my niece quite nicely. I did finally beat him. I was almost 30 and he had just gotten his hip replaced a week earlier. Never did get my milkshake...

So in honor of Uncle Pete, (and fearing that he may be the one wielding the rubber hose if the poll goes that way), I may have to take some drastic measures. That Bay is too cold to lose.

John's Weigh-in, January 26: 259 lbs.

2009-01-26T18:33:00.000-08:00

So I've a lost a total of five pounds, which entitles me to bore you with the following:

I was driving to the gym today when I heard a really, really stupid commercial on the radio for something called Pepsi Max, the "first diet cola for MEN." The pitch of the ad assumes that men are embarrassed to be seen drinking what it called a "diet cola" (although I'm guessing they don't mean this one), and these embarrassed men go to great lengths to hide the fact that they would ever drink something as girly as a "diet cola," so they hide said diet cola in the moose head they mount on the wall, and gaze longingly at it until the game ends and whatever homosocial bonding taking place has concluded. The ad ends with this tag line: "Now you can drink a diet cola still look your cojones in eyes."

First of all, I've been in hundreds, maybe thousands, of private residences, and I have never seen a fucking moose head mounted on the wall of anybody's home. Even the people I know who hunt don't stuff the animals they kill. They eat them and get on with it.

Secondly, has anyone in the history of anything ever met a guy who was embarrassed to drink a diet soda? Of course not. It seems to me that Pepsi Max is trying to create a closet where one didn't exist. Why would they want to do that, anyway? Closets are destructive.

Thirdly, for those who don't speak colloquial Spanish, cojones means "balls." If my balls had eyes, the only way I could look into them is if I were limber enough to fellate myself. And if I could do that--because what else would I do, move it to the side?--I'd have to worry about whether or not I was gay, in which I might as well have stuck to drinking Diet Coke in the first place.

Which, by the way, is delicious.

Why John Will Win the First Monthly Weight Loss Challenge

2009-01-26T00:06:00.000-08:00

Because while John's working out and watching what he eats, Andy's crushing Eskimo Pies.

What the Hell!!!?????

2009-01-23T11:34:00.000-08:00

Sartre Fartre, Camus Shmamu. Fuck Earl Nightengale and SFW.

The people don't want to hear that mess. It's Friday and we wanna party!

So grab your bannana hammocks and let's get down to it with this golden oldie!

The Strangest Secret, or, The Sousa Boys are Who We Thought They Were

2009-01-22T21:00:00.000-08:00

About a week ago, my buddy gave me this ebook called Burn the Fat, Feed the Muscle by Tom Venuto. Chapter 1 opens with a couple of epigraphs, one by Michelangelo, and one by some dude named Earl Nightingale:

The strangest secret in the world is that you become what you think about.

According to his website, Nightingale is remembered--he died in 1989--as the greatest philosopher of his time. This would make him the greatest philosopher of the second half of the 20th Century. I mean, who needs Sartre, Camus, Derrida, or any of those other so-called "best known" philosophers of their day. I'd at least heard of them. But who gives a shit, they were French, and good old Earl was on the USS Arizona when it was sneak-attacked. And none of the cheese-eating bastards were ever paraphrased by Dennis Green in a post-game tirade.

Here's the problem with Venuto's book: it's too self-helpy for me. If I could help myself, I would never have turned into such a disgusting fat body in the first place. Venuto seems okay, like a slightly less douchey version of John Basedow--and trust me, I would rather gain another 62 lbs than be John Basedow. But I'm also not going to be buying the 7 Habits of Highly Successful People, Dianetics, or the Celestine Prophecy, either.

But I am going to do two things that Venuto recommends:

First, per his medical disclaimer, I'm going to consult my physician. I have an appointment set up for next Tuesday, and I'll let you know if my doctor says it's okay for me to continue. And while I have absolutely no idea why anyone would take advice from anyone as fat and as ignorant as the author of this blog, I think everyone should see a health care professional regularly. And I know, many people don't have health insurance. It's tough out there. So, for $79.95, Andy will come to your house wearing scrubs and a lab coat and give you a full check-up. Just make sure you keep your Miami Bass mix-tapes locked up, or you could end up with his banana-hammocked four inches of fury up in your face. Just saying.

The second thing I'm going to do is set a goal. A concrete weight loss goal. I want to weigh 200 lbs when this over. Once I talk to my doctor and find out how quickly and safely I should lose (as of Tuesday) 62 lbs, I'll update that here. Ambitious? Maybe. But if one of the ways we measure the contest is total weight lost, I'm going to destroy Andy.

I'm also going to do something that, from what I can tell, Venuto does not recommend, and that is consult a personal trainer at my gym. What I've been doing for the past two weeks is cardio, some light weight training, and perfect pushups (from my knees, like the fat, weak Andy-clone I've become). Also, the weather was so great last week, that I went for a jog on Friday, shirtless doing the truffle shuffle all up and down the hills in my neighborhood. Here's a picture. It would have been posted sooner, but Mary in our graphics department couldn't stars big enough to cover the gynocomastia. We wanted it to be SFW, you see:

Sorry, Ladies. He's taken.

I think my brother alluded to the fact that I'm going on the South Beach Diet. Not exactly. I am cutting out carbs like sugar, bread, and beer. But I'm still eating fresh fruits, especially oranges, after I work out to keep my blood sugar from crashing. I don't just want to be fainting, you know, in case I have to make an important speech or something.

A Quarter Ton of Man Meat: Week Two

2009-01-22T08:50:00.001-08:00

Hey, we not have lost many pounds between us, but at least the backs of necks don't look like packs of hot dogs anymore.

Andy's Weigh-in, January 20: 231 lbs.

2009-01-21T21:33:00.001-08:00

Well, it seems as though my fat-ass brother has won again, and I just can't seem to lose any weight. I am not tripping too much though, as I have lost one belt notch and my pants are looser than hell. A much younger woman even chatted me up at the bar this weekend, so I'll take the small victories and keep on trucking.

My problem of course has always been my diet, which is just terrible. I crave delicious things both salty and sweet. Give me anything made by Reese's and a bag of Tim's Cascade Style Salt and Vinegar Potato chips and I'm happier than John's douche-bag nephew setting bear traps.

John's Nephew

Once, back in the summer of 2004, a certain Hungarian and I decided to try the South Beach Diet. It took me seven whole days to lose 17 pounds. I hear only Dysentery gets quicker results, or er... maybe diverticulitis.

After a few difficult weeks of denying myself the cold delicious beer, things evened out and it was pretty good overall, helping me lose almost thirty pounds over the course of a few months. I've heard through the grapevine that my brother is starting South Beach this week. So I think I need to look into changing my diet, or else come the end of the month, you'll all see what happens to the Sousa who loses.

John's Weigh-in, January 20: 262 lbs.

2009-01-20T20:06:00.001-08:00

Well, I didn't lose any weight this week, and I'm pretty sure it has to do with the fact that I had a BBQ on Sunday for the playoffs, which meant a lot chicken wings, ribs, and my personal Achilles Heel, weight-wise: beer. It makes my face round and my love handles jiggle.

But it's just so delicious, especially when it comes out of a cooler, ice sticking to the sides, so cold it burns just a little bit down as it slides down your gullet.

Anyway, so that was a lot of fun. But this is, after all a competition, and I have one giant, fat ass to kick (Andy's) as I get my own giant, fat ass into shape. So I have rule: no more beer until the Super Bowl, and then no more beer until St. Patrick's Day, and then no more beer until Cinco De Mayo, and then no more beer until my Birthday on June 27. Then I can drink beer, patriotically, for a whole week through the Fourth of July, rocking out to my namesake's marches like it's 1899. After that I'm pretty sure I can make until football season starts.

Speaking of St. Patrick's day, can I digress for a minute here? I had an Irish dude say these exact words to me today: "We have an expression in Ireleand: 'I've got a neck like a jockey's bollocks.' And that's me today, mate, you know what I mean?'" I have absolutely no idea what that means. If someone can help me out, that would be awesome.

But in between those days, no beer. No cookies, no cake, and for So Help Me Jesus, no more Joey Bagadonuts subs from Pop's Sandwich Shop on Twin Peaks (although, it's a genuine flavor-taste-sensation).

It's come to this. I'm tired of being a sweaty, fat bastard. I'm tired of my asshole breaking. And I'm goddam tired of walking down the street and people saying, "Hey, Andy! Where's my $20?"

In my next post, dear readers, I will give a break down of my specific goals, methods, and madness in this quest to not get mistaken for Rosie's bastard offspring. I believe my wife when she tells me, "I'm so glad you're getting in shape and being healthy, honey, because if I have to take care of a middle-aged man with all kinds of fucked up health problems because you didn't take care of yourself, I'm going to divorce you."

Oh, and I hope this doesn't give anything away, but even though I didn't lose any weight since my last weigh-in, I bet I'm still kicking my brother's ass.

My Niece is Smart

2009-01-20T10:37:00.000-08:00

Reports of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

2009-01-19T22:30:00.000-08:00

So, I am sure that everyone understands that when huge fat people begin the long journey to becoming healthier individuals there are going to be some setbacks. Obviously, mine involve spam, beer, buffalo gravy and homeless dudes, oh tasty, tasty homeless dudes... but I digress. You see, one of the things that we all need to keep in mind is that we can't be one hundred percent healthy all the time, or we'd never have any fun.

Here's an interesting article from Tracy Rose about how you can even plan for these setbacks, and get back on track when you have them. She says that instead of being overly reliant on a scale to track your progress, you can do other things like pay attention to how your clothes are fitting. I have noticed actually that since I re-set my goals and began drinking gallons of Chinese Diet Tea each day, I can almost roll over in my bed again. If the city sanitation department can handle a few more days of this, we may not need the pallet jack by this week's weigh in.

Which brings us back to remaining positive through this weight-loss journey. Even though my brother used my recent setback to poke fun, I think it really upset him and he is a little concerned that he may resort back to his favorite breakfast of a fried-chicken Krispy Kreme sandwich with a side of fried macaroni and cheese balls wrapped in bacon and a deep-fried snickers bar for dessert.

So I have come up with five reasons he should continue to improve his health and well being. Because I really do believe that if he loses seventy or eighty pounds:

Random children at the supermarket may never again say, "Daddy, why does that man have bosoms like mommy?"
The owners of the local all-you-can-eat restaurant will stop turning out the lights and locking the door when they see him down the block.
He may become employable. No more insurance risk of accidental crushings.
Even if he still can't find a job, he can wear regular clothes to blog in all day rather than his house slippers and his wife's old maternity pants.
On those special nights when he and his wife play "Captain of the basketball team and the naughty cheerleader" his letterman jacket might actually fit.

Community Service

2009-01-16T11:13:00.000-08:00

In addition to making ourselves healthier, We Sousa boys have also made a commitment to making our communities healthier. It was in this spirit that Andy volunteered at an event to feed the homeless for a week at a soup kitchen here in San Francisco.

Nobody was prepared for what happened then. When Andy went in on Monday, you may remember that he looked like this:

It started okay. In fact, one of the homeless guys who came to the soup kitchen bonded with my brother over their shared interests:

But then they started serving mashed potatoes and spam with a side of buffalo gravy and my brother suddenly couldn't stop himself. Four days later, he'd undone all the progress he'd made in his quest to get healthy:

And the homeless guy he'd bonded with over beer and hookers didn't fare very well, either, I'm afraid:

Andy even ate his sign.

But hey, we still love you, Andy. As soon as we get a new door installed on the garage, you can come home.

UK Hates John's Children

2009-01-15T15:32:00.001-08:00

You may be wondering where I've been for the past few days, and I have to come clean. I am proud of my brother for persevering through the crisis that has presented itself and has threatened his very existence. Even through it all, he has found the strength to continue to update you all on his progress. I'm simply not that strong, and have had to take a few days to deal with it.

You see, my fat-ass brother is also lazy and unmotivated. He did somehow luck out and was able to con, er... I mean marry a wonderful and intelligent wife who is just finishing her doctorate at Yale. His life has been good since then, as he has had someone to tell him what to do, and more importantly, to support him.

He's living the dream. But lazy and unmotivated don't mix well with stupid. Apparently, during a rocky period in his marriage a few years ago, he had an affair with an exchange student from England. So, this weekend the dream turned nightmarish, as we found out from this woman that John has two illegitimate children who live with her across the pond. Yep, it is that bad. Apparently the second time she visited he had no idea about the first kid, and knocked her up again.

To make matters worse, it was reported today in the London Telegraph that the entire country is opposed to his grotesque Sousa children, and are taking measures to make sure they don't grow to be as massive and gelatinous as their dad.

Cheer up, it's hopeless. Even if your wife decides to kick us out and no longer support you financially, we're here for you brother. And I love all my nieces and nephews, English, American, large and small.

Mental Health

2009-01-14T21:21:00.000-08:00

If My Big, Fat Sousa is nothing else, it is a holistic health program. That's why I spent three hours today hooked up to an e-meter during an auditing session. With only 1700 more cash payments I might make Operating Thetan.

Just Kidding. I had a monthly appointment with my psychiatrist. He also manages my medication. It's working out fine, thank you for asking. One of his favorite things to tell me, when I complain about how my fat-ass brother lives in my basement and comes in when I'm in the middle of dinner and just grabs whatever it is I'm enjoying at that moment and stuffs it in his gaping maw, is, "Cheer up, it's hopeless."

What he means is that you can't really get rid of your family. You're stuck with them. Especially if they're too big to move and the pallet jack you rented doesn't get low enough to the ground to scrape his gigantic carcass off the pavement. Besides, I think that's what San Francisco Fire Department Heavy Rescue is for.

I'm actually terribly hopeful today, as I'm feeling fantastic. I highly recommend combining psychoanalysis with diet and exercise.

Another thing the good doctor told me is that one of the ways he recognizes mental illness in a patient is if they have absolutely zero sense of humor. This, of course, made me think of this project my brother and I have started, and I remembered an encounter I had a little over three years ago.

A few weeks after my daughter Lily was born, I put her in her stroller and walked two blocks from our apartment to the house where we pick up our box of organic produce. We subscribed to a Community Supported Agriculture farm share, which means once a week we got a box full of seasonal, organic produce. The box would be dropped off at a house a couple of blocks from our apartment. The woman who lived in this house is a raw-food activist. In front of her house is a van, painted with flowers and rainbows and slogans:

"Cooked food is Dead."

"Go Raw!"

"Vegans: Our Poop Floats."

We bought the farm share because it was delicious, local, and organic, and we have fun coming up with new recipes for exotic (to us), seasonal vegetables (these days, now that we live in San Francisco, we subscribe to this one). Fuck that shit, for this woman, it was a god damned political statement.

She took a look at Lily, lolling about in the stroller and said, "Nice newborn," like she was looking at the latest model of baby I picked up at the Natural Birth Co-Op. "Were you born at home?" she asked. "Do you love boobie?"

Lily couldn't answer because she was five weeks old. Plus, Lily was breach, so no matter how many doulas we had chanting and co-breathing, she was not coming out in a kiddie-pool in our living room. Besides, our insurance didn’t cover home birthing. And while Lily did indeed love boobie, sometimes Mommy needed to rest, or the boobies got sore, so daddy supplemented the breast milk with Enfamil. When she heard the word "formula," the raw-food activist flinched like Ron whenever Harry says, "Voldemort." Then she pulled her son, who’s maybe seven or eight, close to her body like I was going to whip out a Playtex Ventaire and squirt Similac into his eye or something.

I wanted to tell Mrs. La Leche that her boy was too old to still be breast feeding, but thanks to my ongoing psychiatric treatment, I've learned not to be mean to people on the street who mean well but, because of genetics or whatever (I'm not a scientist) it's their lot in life to be total douche bags.

My point is that I'm not gonna start eating nothing but raw vegetables in order kick my brother's fat ass in this contest. I would be in-fucking-sufferable. If I fall off the wagon and have a bacon cheeseburger with a side of fries, it won't be the end of the world.

I'll just have to wipe my mouth with my shirt and get on with it.

Andy's Weigh-in January 12: 232 lbs

2009-01-12T21:44:00.001-08:00

It's fitting that as I write this, Larry King is interviewing contestants from the Biggest Loser, who also happen to be father and daughter. Today I also came across an interesting study from the National Insitutes on Aging which found that "obesity spreads within social networks and that the closer the social connection--even if people live in different households many miles apart--the greater the influence on developing obesity." So, basically, if you're friends and family are fat, there's more of a chance that you'll be a fat-ass too.

And if you have a good support system in place, losing weight is a lot easier and it can even be fun. I was riding the bus home today, and a friend of mine instant messaged me that I shouldn't feel too negatively about the fact that I have maintained the same weight over this past week. In fact, I feel great about my progress this week, because I have exercised almost everyday.

01/05/09: Rode an incumbent bike for 30 minutes = 12 miles and swam 48 laps = 2/3 mile

01/06/09: Used an elliptical machine for ten minutes (was sweating like John in front of some barbecue pig) and used the Perfect Push-up. Three sets of push-ups in regular, wide and close position. First 8 then 6 then 4 then 2 = 60 pushups

01/07/09: Swam 48 laps = 2/3 mile

01/08/09: 60 pushups

01/09/09: Swam 72 laps = 1 mile

01/10/09: Hiked to Fort Funston with the family and our dogs

01/11/09: Kicked it in my easy lift chair, ate hella Red Vines and drank some Pabst. Watched the San Diego Chargers suck ass.

01/12/09: Walked up hills in SF for twenty minutes at lunch and swam 72 laps = 1 mile.

And along with having supportive friends and family, I am finding that the key to this whole thing is switching up your activities and keeping it fun. Today I walked into my office and the first thing I heard was "Dumbass?!!! Oh, Hell No. It's on!" It was my friend and co-worker who my fat-ass brother had condescended for not using apostrophes appropriately in his comment to a previous post. "We're going to kick your brother's ass!" At lunch time he demanded that I walk for twenty minutes up Sutter to Van Ness and back. When he pulled up in his Cadillac with a sandwich in his hand, honked his horn and yelled "Get on with it fat-ass!" I knew I had an A-Plus team in place.

So I was feeling pretty good when I hit the gym tonite, but Club One is not without it's elements of douche-baggery. I was just finishing my tenth lap of the day, really hitting my stride when a woman jumped into the pool in the same lane as me. She asked me if it was a shared lane, and I replied that I guess so, because it seemed pretty obvious. And then I realized that's really not what she wanted. I just stared at her, and told me that she was just learning to swim and didn't want to hit me. My stare turned into a slack-jawed expression. "Did you reserve this lane?" she asked finally asked after a long thirty seconds. When I replied that I didn't she mentioned that her friend was also waiting to swim. That's when I looked at her and said "I 'm not so good at mind reading, can you tell me what the fuck it is you really want?" She just looked at me and said, "Well, I reserved this lane."

An example of douche-baggery

So I asked if she would like me to leave, and she told me that maybe I should ask the woman at the front desk how the reservations work. I stepped out of the pool into the freezing ass gym and asked the woman what was up. It ended with me signing up for three-hour blocks of time every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the next month. As I returned to the pool, the former hall-monitor and her friend were swimming together in another lane, and there was some dude in the lane I was in previously. He was just getting out as I walked up, and he said to me "I don't know what the fuck that was about..." So with a ten minute delay I finished the rest of my mile, thinking of it much it would fill me glee to smash both of their pinky toes with a ball pein hammer.

Post Weigh-in Workout: John Rants About his Gym.

2009-01-12T20:40:00.000-08:00

When I got the gym, I went into the locker room to weigh myself, because it's Monday, and that's the day Andy and I agreed we would weigh ourselves. But first, I had to drop a deuce. Not because I wanted an unfair advantage in trying to get rid of an extra 8 oz. or anything, but just because I had a sudden urge.

So I get into the toilet portion of the locker room--mind you, this is the MEN's locker room--and went into the first available stall. Some asshole had pissed all over the seat. This is a major pet peeve of mine. One of the major advantages to being a man is that you can stand up while you pee. They even make special toilets for us; they're called "urinals." There were two of these urinals in good working order. Also, since this is a gym, there are also shower stalls. This guy couldn't have peed in one of those? What kind of short dick motherfucker is so embarrassed by his junk that he has to hide behind a locked door to take a leak? Or maybe it was a guy with a colostomy bag, who is so embittered toward the world of normal-crapping men that he goes around spraying piss on toilet seats so that no one can cop a squat. Luckily, Captain Short Spray shot his wad on the handicapped stall, so I was able to take care of business in the other. But my mood was ruined. And while I'm on this topic, where the fuck is the staff who is supposed to be cleaning the goddamned restrooms?

They sure weren't monitoring the circuit training section, because the machines there were occupied by a bunch of people not working the circuit, in express violation of the gigantic sign posted at the entrance to the area. I guess this is what you get you for $10 a month.

So I went down and did 40 minutes of cardio on the LifeFitness 9500h. As I listened to music on my iPhone, I looked at the 10 HDTV screens they have stuck to the walls in front of the cardio section. On screen 8 was Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. I've watched this show a couple of times, and I generally approve of these types of eating establishments, but without the audio it was disorienting. What I learned this evening is that Guy Fiore only eats at places that fry various types of meats in pig fat, and makes the O-face every time he takes a bite of chicken fried steak, which is at least 27 times in a half-hour episode. He is the only guy I've ever seen who wears a wrist band, MJ-Style, because he's that worried about sweating while he eats. Not even Andy does that.

On screen 9, as Fiore was making out with a chili-smothered piece of deep-fried balogna, a show I've never seen before, Man vs. Wild was on. The contrast could not have been greater: Fiore jizzing in his pants over a Krispy Kreme Taco on screen while Bear Grylls (what the fuck kind of name is that, anyway? If anyone's a bear it's Fiore) kills a boa constrictor with his bare hands, skins it, and then eats that son of a bitch. He follows this up the next morning with a fucking cave scorpion.

Anyway, so I've lost two pounds since last Monday, which I'm taking as a victory.

John's Weigh-in, January 12: 262 lbs.

2009-01-12T19:05:00.000-08:00

2 lbs. Will blog a full post after I work out.

The Most Annoying Person on the Planet?

2009-01-11T10:58:00.000-08:00

The other day, my Morbidly Obese brother Andy took a break from retrofitting his Easy Lift Chair with cup holder big enough to hold a Costco-sized tub of Red Vines so he could write in his blog that I was the third most annoying person on the planet.

But ask anyone who is more annoying, and they'll tell you that the most annoying Sousa brother is Andy. By a country mile, which is, incidentally, the size of his belt.

For example, I refuse to eat in his presence because he has to have a running commentary. "Why do you eat so FAST?" he'll say. The answer is that, growing up in the same house as him, if you weren't quick about it, he'd steal the food off your plate. Then you'd not only have to watch him eat your food but listen to it, because my brother is the most disgusting open-mouthed eater you've ever seen. He absolutely refuses to eat with his mouth closed, and if you ask him politely to please stop smacking his fucking lips he'll just do it louder.

It really is gross.

So this morning I made myself a little turkey and black bean chili; I put some spinach in it for some extra fiber. I put this chili over some tortilla chips with pepper jack cheese, and topped it off with some jalapeños. These jalapeños were hotter than I'd anticipated and gave me the hiccups, right as Andy was sitting down on the couch. "Oh my God, dude," he said. "You're CONVULSING!"

Tommorow is our weigh-in. I'm going to kick his ass in payback for ruining my breakfast.

Week One Photos: A Quarter Ton of Man Meat

2009-01-09T22:17:00.001-08:00

Beefcake.

How My Brother Rolls

2009-01-09T20:24:00.000-08:00

This is a little weight chart I made and put on our refrigerator with a magnet. As you can see, Andy changed my weight from "264" to "464."

In another sign of his competitiveness, he played the Kung Fu Panda video game with my daughter, who is three, and absolutely destroyed her. She likes to play as Tigress, and she makes me be Po. We kind of work together, and I let her get me and even win once in a while. Not Uncle Andy. He played as Monkey and just unloaded all of the power moves on her. He kept knocking her into the river and yelling, "IN YOUR FACE!!!!"

I Know Why I'm Mean.

2009-01-09T13:54:00.000-08:00

It's because my fat-ass brother is the most annoying person on the planet, aside from Kris Kattan and Ricky Morley. For the record, I have never much cared whether anyone is laughing with me or at me, as long as they are paying attention to whatever I might be doing at the moment.

What I did say to my fat-ass-annoying brother is that maybe this blog should be more than the usual Sousa game of seeing who was better at making fun of the other, and actually provide a useful record for others who are trying to be more healthy, such as one reader from Albany, NY:

You two are an inspiration to me! Does the diet wine cooler and masturbation diet really work? If so, we should really alert Oprah. I've been surfing the internet for good diets because my office is having a "biggest loser" competition and I think I'm going to be following your blog and looking to you guys for tips.
I think I can lose weight! Today I went to the Crossgates Mall and walked one and a half laps. Usually I have to get one of those motorized carts but this time I walked! I did get sucked into the try-sample chinese chicken guy and ended up stuffing my face - I guess old habits die hard! Anyway, keep doing what you're going and I'm going to keep track of you guys!

And I have really been trying. I mean, I haven't mentioned once how my brother looks like a Rosie O'Donnell and Brian Posehn "If they Mated" skit on Conan.

PLUS

EQUALS

So, we have two choices here, we can be nice and constructive, or we can be old school about that shit...Let's have the readers decide.

Big shout out to our friend from John's glory days (High School) who has offered a $100 gift certificate to Bevmo to the first Sousa to get below 200 pounds. That's gonna buy a lot of diet wine coolers.

And to our friend out in Albany, stay warm and try to make it two laps next week. Feel free to kick try-sample chinese-chicken guy right in the nuts the next time he offers you his tender, greasy deliciousness. See! It's all about empowerment.

Why are the Sousa Boys so Mean to Each Other?

2009-01-09T11:00:00.000-08:00

This is a question I've been asking myself for years. Every time my brother brings up my recent bout with diverticulitis, actually. Because the way he does it is, we'll be having some beers with some friends and/or acquaintances, and I'll reach for an hors d'oeuvres and he'll say something like, "Dude, are you sure you should be eating that after your asshole broke?"

Now, he has a point, in that I probably should not have been eating a bacon-wrapped whatever-it-was I was stuffing my face with, since my doctor told me that the reason I was in the hospital with a condition usually found in 70 year-old men is mainly due to the "Typical American Diet."

I didn't think my diet was that bad, which shows how much I know.

ANYWAY, getting diverticulitis was one of the main reasons I wanted to join a gym and eat better and get in shape. And even though it's been less than a week since I've started a regular exercise routine and stopped drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon with every meal, I already feel a ton better. I feel energized and healthy.

And my brother is concerned that people are laughing at us instead of with us, although, I think the difference has mainly to do with whether or not the laughs are intended. So far, though, the response we've gotten both in the comments section of this blog and on facebook have been overwhelmingly positive, so I don't know why he's so upset.

Here's a list of things that I know do NOT work for Sousas who are trying to get in shape:

Taking Effexor. Andy's dad tried this. And yes, he lost a ton of weight, but that's mainly because he neither slept nor ate for weeks at a time. He finally got some sleep and food in the hospital after being 5150ed. Twice. Both times, he blamed his mania on a conspiracy between the Contra County Sherriff's Department and Illegal Aliens. Although, seeing him recently was also an impetus for this project, because the first thing he did was grab for love handles and say, "What are you up, about 260?" This blow was softened somewhat when he asked me how come I never wanted to try Rogaine.

Agitating tigers at the zoo. Andy's cousin (though, curiously, no relation to me) tried this last Christmas. It might have worked if he was a little faster. Katt Williams has a great explanation as to why this is not an effective method of healthy weight loss.

Buying fitness products from infomercials, such as the Ab Shocker. I'm concerned that the Perfect Pushup may fall into this category.

Sweatin' to the Oldies. Andy actually has one of those Richard Simmons tank top-and-short-shorts combos. If we're lucky, he'll post a picture.

Now I have to go, because I need to chase some Jehovah's Witnesses from my front porch and go to the gym.

Initial Weigh-in, Andy: 232 lbs.

2009-01-08T17:16:00.000-08:00

As you can see, my weight on Monday, January 5 is much less than how much my fat-ass brother, John weighs. He of course points out that he is three inches taller, as if that somehow justifies a ten-pound-per-inch ratio.

First of all, diet wine coolers are hella good. And Second, according to Japanese scientist Dr. Shukan Tokuho, one can burn 300 calories through a vigorous 5 minute masturbation session, giving me at least a 1200 calorie-per-day advantage over my brother.

Here's the rest of my plan. I joined Club One in downtown San Francisco. It's more expensive than John's gym, but it has a pool and my employer helps to subsidize it, so it's still pretty cheap. My goal is swim a mile three times a week, and use the Perfect Pushup another two days a week as weight training. I think that it will be a more traditional and effective plan than my brother's, which I think he called circuit party training or something like that...

So here's to breaking the tradition of the Male Sousas. And in the end we both win, because good health is slowest rate at which you die. Another plus for John is that if he loses enough weight, he'll no longer have to fear that his wife might pull a Han Solo and gut him like a Ton-Ton to keep his daughter - and herself - from freezing to death this winter.

Initial Weigh-in, John: 264 lbs.

2009-01-07T20:06:00.000-08:00

This was my weight on Monday, January 5. From now on, we'll weigh in each week and report our weight.

Yes, that's pretty big for me. My fat ass brother, Andy, and I have made a bet to see who can get in shape quicker and/or better. At first we were going to just weigh ourselves at the end of the month and see who lost the most weight.

There are a couple of problems with this. I'm a good three inches taller than my brother. In addition to being shorter than me, he's also more of a traditional round belly fat guy.

This blog is a way to encourage each other and track our progress. There's always a good chance that--in the great tradition of Male Sousas--we'll talk a great game about what we're going to do and then fail miserably, in which case this blog will be a public record of our failure; the list of reasons to hate ourselves will just get that much longer.

So here's my plan. I joined a gym last month called Planet Fitness, in Daly City. It's pretty cool. It's $10 a month, they have all the equipment, and it's clean. My goal is to go at least three days a week. Once school starts back up for me, it may get challenging, but I can also always work out at USF. Or just walk my fat ass around the block a few times.

I'm not sure what Andy's plan of attack will be. I think it involves switching to drinking diet wine coolers and wearing a solar suit while he watches porn on his computer.